


working backwards

by portuguesegirlwithdreams



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Slow Burn, Soulmates, alternative universe, sort of slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-14 09:38:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7165871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/portuguesegirlwithdreams/pseuds/portuguesegirlwithdreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Styles is finally at a place where he's... comfortable. He shares an apartment with his best mate, Louis and sees their friend Niall on the daily. He is finally accepted, cherished, unashamed of who he is. Liam and Zayn enter their lives like a hurricane, shifting their priorities and triggering them to question their beliefs. <br/>Soulmate AU where pain is shared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pleased to meet you.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a weakness for Soulmates AUs and, as everyone knows, there's a thousand different variables. In this particular verse, when one becomes injured, the other shares the pain. They also earn scars as a result, if the injury is sufficiently severe. Having said that, sometimes their scars may not be all too similar, because bodies heal in different ways, but they'll be in the same location. Tattoos are not shared, however if you touch the flesh, you can feel the outlining as though needles pressed in but no ink was left to stain the flesh.

Most individuals in their twenties found themselves suffering from that crippled fear that nothing was working out the way they had originally intended. Most people had a plan, did their best to carry said plan through and, when it didn't, some improvised while others became paralyzed. It was one of the many reasons Harry Styles refused to plan ahead. He knew life never went according to plan, lived for no ones schedule but its own. Often, he found himself believing that everything played out the way it was supposed to. So when he overslept and forgot to reply to the only college he'd been accepted into, which lead to him losing his position, Harry told himself - for days at an end - that it simply wasn't his turn just yet. These days, he might go as far as pointing out that Gemma leaving to travel the world with a band she met at an outing was **evidence** of such. His mother needed his presence, needed _him_. There was always time to enroll into college once again. Maybe this time he'd aim a little lower, rather than apply for prestigious educational institutions as he'd done last time. But at least one of them had been willing to take him. So perhaps he could pick two highly recommended universities and two... not as much. Besides, working at the bakery was not the worst job in the world. In fact, he daresay he might actually love it. 

Unlike most, Harry was very much a morning person. There were days when yes, the alarm clock had to ring a little longer, louder than usual before he might persuade himself to rise from his slumber. But the norm was that he was easily woken and, often, humming tunes while preparing his own breakfast. He still lived in Redditch with his mom, the house oddly quiet considering how it had been in the past. Sometimes Gemma's absence throbbed in the space around them, now that it was just Harry and his mother. His sister was loud, almost as loud as he had been throughout his adolescence. On his own, he couldn't simply fill the holes she'd left, but he could very well try. 

Some mornings, Anne would descend the stairs with a tired smile and eyes still not quite open. The first few times, he'd apologized, only to have her hush him and comb his curls with her fingers. She'd sit by the kitchen island with him, sip tea and not say much while Harry moved about, still quietly singing whichever song settled in his mind. His mother had never been the type to mock. If anything, she'd often ask that he sing and replace the deafening silence with music. He knew that once he left the house, she'd return to bed. Rightfully so, seen as the sun wouldn't be up for the next couple of hours. Three years into this profession and Anne would still leave the warmth of her bed to sit beside her son, even when there was no conversation to be had. Harry wondered if she mourned him during those few hours he spent at the bakery, if she feared he too might someday meet a rockstar and decide to follow a band around the world. Surely she knew better; he'd told her as much one night, after she'd had a couple of glasses of wine, swore he'd take her along with him if he ever felt compelled to embark on such an adventure. 

The issue was that he excelled at his job. He was given bonuses whenever a product of his creation became popular. Considering how small Redditch was in comparison, he knew the owners could not afford constant promotions or raises. The bonuses were nice, anyway. Harry never actually made much effort. Somehow, he came up with the most bizarre combination of flavors and, surprisingly, their costumers took a liking to them. He could still recall how his boss had frowned at the concept of a cupcake recipe that included spices, a cupcake that left a lingering burn on your tongue and a hint of thirst after its consumption. People called that particular dessert "exotic", said it reminded them of warm, tropical countries. When he combined a divided fusion of melted chocolate and banana inside a solid cake, they'd appeared disgusted. But the quizzical costumers were all but willing to try and proved themselves pleased. So Harry remained daring and, with each invention, came an additional bonus. It all varied according to sells and he understood as much. In some ways, it was like working on commission. He thought it a fair deal.

Additionally to his work in the kitchen, Harry was sometimes asked to play cashier. It worked out. Apparently, he was what most called a _people's person_ , his meaningless flirtations often earning him some generous tips - be it from the timid school girls or the young men. Sometimes, he even winked at the retired, nice old ladies who would pinch his cheeks until he revealed his trademark dimples. Harry was not above resorting to his pink lips either. If a pout got him an extra five pounds at the end of the day, then so be it. Anne and he were fine. She still worked, was young and her diet and exercise regime ensured she could do so with ease, but Harry... well, he was saving up for college. Which he would be attending sometime before turning twenty five. He knew that. He simply had no desire to dwell on it. Or plan in excruciating detail. But it was something on his bucket list. Not necessarily meaning he had a plan.

Beatrice - the older woman who owned the bakery, his so called 'boss' - decided to expand and open another bakery a couple of hours outside of town, near a college campus. She'd instantly urged Harry to consider a transfer. It wasn't until she dangled a fatter paycheck before him that he promised to consider, sat down with his mother and finally came to the conclusion that the additional money would help . And it was _just_ two hours away. The first couple of months, Anne had arranged for Harry to live in a T2 belonging to a distant cousin. She had turned the empty apartment into a cozy setting and lingered until she felt assured that her son was not abandoning her. Some days, when he was left off early - just after lunch - he drove home, spent the rest of his day alongside his old lady, made supper, slept in his own bed and drove back at 3am. He worked weird hours, but Anne understood and cherished any moment he could allow her. She also only truly stopped hovering after meeting Louis, whom she took a liking to almost instantly. Harry couldn't even remember Louis mentioning his lack of a room until Anne announced they would be roommates, as Harry had no use for the guest bedroom. No protests followed because, truthfully, Harry liked Louis more than his mother did. He needed someone loud and fun, someone who could force him outside of his head when he got lost within it. Oddly, the pair proved to be quite the balanced duo.

When Beatrice rang the bakery at 5:45am on a Thursday, Harry knew it was not an aimless phone call. She had done the math, called fifteen minutes prior to opening because she knew Harry would already be there, killing time before the oven's buzzers went off. It came as a surprise that she was experiencing chest pains and was at the ER - he recalled reading somewhere that chest pains were never be taken lightly. After bombarding the woman with questions, being met with reassurance and, later, instructions, Harry found himself nodding. Beatrice must have somehow known that that would be his response because she never asked twice or repeated herself. At some point, the curly boy thought to take some notes, as it seemed he would be on his own the entire day, doing both his and her shift, as well as both responsibilities. He would have to stay on top of the remaining staff, ensure no deliveries were traded or off schedule, keep the place up and running swiftly in her absence. Usually, Harry was the last person you turned to for this kind of task, but he had been working for them for three years and, a majority of what was asked of him he did as easily as he transformed oxygen into carbon dioxide. 

Adrenaline kick in shortly after; it appeared to be his body's first response to responsibility. It was irrelevant as he was quite efficient in following through with the orders given. By 4:00pm, he'd somehow managed to fit in ten minutes where he permitted himself a break so he might actually enjoy some food. Said 'meal' turned out to be one of the no-crust quiche he'd been experimenting on earlier. Truthfully, he'd simply resorted to using any pizza toppings he could think of so it was somewhat healthy but equally exciting to the younger costumers. He'd barely fit the last mouthful when one of his co-workers was rushing in, demanding another couple of quiches and at least fifty more cupcakes because they were close to being sold out. Harry had grinned, that knowing smile that sometimes unsettled those around him hanging on his lips before opening the oven only to reveal the orders already prepped. You did not work in a place for thirty six months and not learn what sold and what did not. ~~Even if geographical preferences sometimes changed accordingly~~. While he may often come across as adrift, Harry was not an amateur. Which was why it came as no surprise that, while stock was maintained due to his care, other areas were... less secured over the course of the day. So, somehow, he landed himself a position behind the counter, rearranging everything until he decided it was "aesthetically pleasing". Someone may have muttered something similar to _freak with OCD_ under their breath, but he chose to simply smile in return only looking up from the showcase when he realized there was someone standing on the other side of the counter.

Dressed in all black, his coat must have easily reached his knees because, from where he was standing, Harry could not see the end of it. There was a small V cut in whatever he was wearing that did not expose nearly enough skin as he had hoped for. Not that he was yearning to see this stranger bared. Not that he wasn't good looking because... Jesus, he was all eyelashes and cheekbones. For a moment, just a split second - it may have been a heartbeat or two - Harry's breath had hitched and he had been unable to do much else other than stare at the guy. They were looking at each other and Harry had no means of masking his brief lack of manners. He was just so... _pretty_. He'd probably fail to see such an adjective as a compliment, so the baker attempted to gather his wits while licking his lips.

There was another male, standing at his side. Harry took notice of the second a little too late, due to the distraction the first presented. They seemed to have come into the bakery together, standing side by side. The other was also quite handsome, with pale skin and lighter hair. He had what appeared to be a birthmark in the middle of his throat and a mole on his cheek. He seemed kind, whereas the first was reserved, his features not giving much away. This one was talking, the sound of him somewhat distant throughout Harry's observations but now that he had some focus, he politely waited until the boy wrapped up whatever speech he was giving. Silence finally came, two set of eyes now on him and Harry finally spoke.

"What can I get you?"

While he had meticulously chosen the space between the two boys as a focus point, he had somewhat found himself hoping the first young man might be the one to talk. Instead, it was the one wearing a blazer, handkerchief tucked into the pocket by his chest who responded. "Yeah, hi. We want two Burning Desires and two slices of the-" he paused when his friend scoffed, only mildly irritated for being interrupted mid sentence. "Right, one slice of the crustless spinach quiche and one piece of the chocolate cake with banana and dark chocolate filling." 

"Crustless isn't a word." If questioned, Harry would claim it was the adrenaline sending his heart into overdrive, not the resemblance the darker male's voice had to melted, warm chocolate, oozing into his ears and filling his chest where people had left gaps. It took him but only a moment before his reflexes kicked in and he was registering their orders, handing them the receipt. "He means no crust." When he spoke the second time, his gaze was entirely focused on Harry and, frankly, it was almost too much. He had to look away, towards the large windows allowing the customers sitting to glance outside, while he nodded. It was all he could do to avoid blushing. 

"I know what I mean," the other protested, though he hardly sounded offended. 

"No," the first persisted. " _If_ crustless were a word, you would have just asked for quiche with a pastry shell. You ordered the _opposite_ of what you wanted."

"I didn't."

" **You did.** "

Harry's voice echoed with the first male's and suddenly he had their attention shifted back to him once more. Rather than defensive, the man in the wrong simply looked at Harry with larger eyes than before. "I got the one with crust?"

He could be empathetic. For one, he wasn't a fan of crust either. So he smiled what had to be a gentle smile and then shook his head once. "No, I knew what you were aiming for. No crust." If he didn't know any better, Harry would have sworn he had just witnessed a grown ass man in formal wear sigh in relief for being rid of crust. It was almost amusing. If he were not aware of dark hues still hovering over him. Now would have been the perfect time to direct them towards his co-worker Emily, who was responsible for dishing out orders or carrying them out to tables (according to customer's preference), but it seemed the lighter haired male had been here before, was already nudging his friend forward, receipt trapped between his fingers.

For the upcoming ten minutes, Harry seemed to concentrate harder at the simple task that was taking people's orders. He was friendly, sometimes too friendly, too eager, too smiley, but everyone seemed to be buying it, even the grumpiest of them suddenly turning soft and damn near smiling back at him. It was something he often marveled in, how much effort it took before he could pull a smile from someone. Most individuals presented no resistance, others had to be worked on. It was irrelevant, as Harry always obtained the desired outcome, but it wasn't something he'd gotten over yet, how a mere smile could make all the difference. Sometimes, however, he could be misinterpreted. He was given notes written by girls who had described him in detail and drowned in his eyes and smile, always questioning if he had desired them as much as they had him. Turning people down wasn't nearly as fun as making them smile, but Harry did his best to do so gently, to not leave bruises on courageous hearts, beat the bravery out of them. His interest had always been in the same gender as his own, even if his love life was, for all intents and purposes, nonexistent. 

Even now, with his eyes completely set in the blonde freshman, blushing all the way down to her collarbone, his mind was still at the table in the corner, on the boy with black hair and olive skin, dressed in all black, who did not speak much but was, clearly, smart. Harry believed in soulmates, had his fair share of scars and burns to prove it. It was why he turned down anyone with an interest. His sister had often taunted him regarding his decision to wait for what was ahead of him. But he'd know. That's what everyone with a soulmate told him: when he'd meet them, he'd know. So this sudden interest in the boy in his bakery... that would fade, it was temporary. He'd walk out of here and Harry would never have to think of him again. He was a distraction and not much else. 

He was grateful that Louis decided to hop in after whatever class he had supposedly just walked out of. Harry had his time table stuck on their fridge by a magnet, but hardly ever looked at it for too long. Additionally, he'd been on a hectic schedule today. His roommate had the common curtsy - something he often lacked - to hang back until Harry was done with the last customer in line. Barely having stepped forward, his lips parted to start talking and already Louis was interrupted by Emily, who claimed they were running low on cupcakes. Again.

"Are you short a person?" Louis asked, his frustration at being cut short evident in his features. 

"Yeah. Beatrice had to go to the hospital. She's going to be alright," he stated before his friend could press for further information.

There was a moment of silence, the indecision in the young man's features suddenly replaced with determination. "Give me an apron then." Before Harry could fully decide on what was happening, his roommate was already on the other side of the counter, tugging the back until the apron Harry was wearing came undone. The slap given to his friend's hand was a mere reflex. "The aprons are in the kitchen. Where you're headed anyway," he pointed out and, alright, he had a point. So, reluctantly, Harry pulled his apron over his head and passed it onto his friend.

The man accompanying the pretty one was back to the counter. They'd already paid their first order, because the bakery had a prepayment policy. "Hey, mate, think you can get us some more of the quiche and chocolate cake? And maybe two cokes." 

Louis, for all his redeeming qualities, was lacking in the one: discretion. Truthfully, he was a train wreck more often than not. And true to that comparison, it was usually impossible to look away from whatever havoc he was causing. This was no different apparently. Right then, as the stranger spoke, he gaped at him, like a fish out of water. If Harry blushed easily, he might have - from second hand embarrassment -, because no way in hell was this guy going to mistaken his roommate's immense interest in him. "You're fucking gorgeous." Train wreck. 

" _Louis_ ," Harry hissed, elbowing his friend between his ribs, eyes narrowing because this was all sorts of wrong. Not to mention, against the rules. Though, technically, Louis was not an employee. He was just lending a helpful hand and Harry should have stayed away from this mess but while behind the counter, he represented all of them. Harry wouldn't even begin to describe the kind of trouble he'd be in if he had to explain to Beatrice why someone had filed in a complaint regarding sexual advances. Fucking Louis.

"Don't be like that, Hazza. Come on, look at him." He gestured towards the person in question with both hands and, foolish as it may have been, Harry actually followed his gaze. Yeah, alright, his features was proportional so... he must have been attractive. It was just... he was no comparison to his friend. Who Harry suddenly felt compelled to look at. The quieter one was currently studying a sheet of paper, his eyes lazily tracing the length of it and Harry found himself wondering if he was actually preparing for an exam or if he were just enjoying a script, perhaps going over a schedule. It was only when he shifted his attention back to Louis that Harry realized he was a little too invested in learning about this person whose name he didn't know. Louis, of course, was still memorized with the person by the counter and that was when Harry recognized the glint in his eye. He'd only witnessed one other person stumbling upon their soulmate: Gemma. Chaos had followed, which made it so Harry would never forget that longing and desperate look, as though the person she were looking upon had hung the moon. Shit.

It took but only a tilt of his head to realize that the object of Louis' affection - manner of speech of course, because this was a person, not an inanimate object - was currently flustered, cheeks coloring and seemingly flattered at the attention. There was a timid but relatively big smile on his face. No teeth were showing but his cheeks had fattened considerably and his eyes were somewhat downcast. Sometimes he gathered the courage to look up at Louis for a second or so before settling for his chest again. He seemed torn, unaccustomed to this kind of approach. Then again, no one could fully prepare for Louis Tomilson. If they were alone, Harry would tell the guy as much. Right now, however, he had cupcakes waiting to be done and Emily tugging on his sleeve, so they were on their own. 

* * *

 

Isolated in the kitchen was part of the job. Harry often played music, sang along - sometimes growing a little louder than he meant to be. Today he couldn't. Beatrice was missing, which translated to team work. They each had to pull in extra work so everything went according to plan. Harry hated having to follow a plan.

After producing several batches of cupcakes, most of which had to be packed and handed over to Jordan, who was responsible for deliveries, Harry stepped outside once again. Emily was clocking out and he noted most of the earlier commotion had passed. 07:00pm meant most students from campus would be having dinner. Not many thought of heading towards the bakery for that specific meal, so things wouldn't pick up again until 11:00pm or midnight. The night shift, however, was not Harry's responsibility. He'd come in at 5:00am and should have left long ago, but considering the incident with Beatrice... 

With the sudden realization of the extraordinary hours he'd pulled, he was abruptly overwhelmed with exhaustion. He was often found snacking on bananas or oranges, but today it had been impossible to do so. When he wasn't busy with quiches and the variable types of bread, he'd been behind the counter, assisting his colleagues. He'd sat down for all of ten minutes at some point for 'lunch' and was now aware of the protest made by his calves.

Louis, God bless him, was still present, apron wrapped around his front, wicked grin plastered on his lips. His eyes were still on the- oh, yes, so they were still there. The young man Louis had inappropriately addressed earlier and his friend. How long had Harry been in the kitchen for, an hour? Two? How were they still in the bakery? He only somewhat registered that they were still going over whichever notes they shared. So maybe they were studying. "You look like shit," Louis told him, and he was frowning. Which was not a common look. "We good to go then?" He tugged on the hair tie pulling Harry's hair back. Chestnut curls were suddenly free, framing his face and Louis quickly combed through them with his fingers.

Alice and Jasper chose just then to walk into the bakery, both apologizing for the delay, already claiming aprons and ready to take over. There may have been a comment made regarding Louis and Harry's usual proximity but that was so standard, for people to assume the two were more than they were. It was easily brushed off. "You got flour all over your face, babe," Louis told him, wrinkling his nose.

"Don't care," Harry sighed. In that moment, all he yearned for was a shower and his bed. In his current state, however, he might just crash on top of his covers and not bother with washing off first. His heavy feet carried him around the counter, his body following Louis. Ever since Anne had left, Louis was his person. When Harry pulled impossible shifts as he done that day, Louis knew better than to leave him to sort himself out. Had he done the route home on his own, he could have easily fallen asleep behind the wheel. Or decided to crash in the car, forgotten to lock it and been mugged. Harry was careful with others, _so_ careful. But neglected himself immensely. Louis often questioned his self preservation skills.

Their pace suddenly halted and emerald hues decided to glance upwards rather than focus on his feet as they had been. Louis had taken him towards the table in the corner, where the boy he'd probably had heart eyes for all day had been seated with his own mate for... a while. Harry lost track of time. More so when he was held busy by work. Whatever conversation was being held between the two was also suddenly gone, given Harry and Louis' unannounced arrival. Harry felt confused and it probably showed, seen as how the male dressed in all black decided to look at him, instead of Louis. 

"Thought I'd stop by and ask for your number," Louis stated, so simply. As though he were pointing out that the it was about to rain or share that Manchester United had won their last match. While he would have usually shown a strong reaction to his friend's boldness, this time around, Harry could only bring himself to frown. Truly fucking shameless. 

The person on the receiving end of the proposal too was frowning, his gaze now on Harry, back to Louis, Harry, then Louis again. For a moment, he turned to his friend, seeking... something? And then he was looking at Louis again, a small hint of anger in his tone when he spoke again. "Are you flirtin' with me in front of your boyfriend?" Harry would feign shock, if this hadn't been a topic of discussion one too many times. At this point, he was bored by the assumption. 

Louis, being Louis, chuckled. "He wishes." His hand tapped against Harry's chest, to which Harry forced a smile but Louis' blue eyes were set on the other young man. "We're roommates. BFFs. Bros for life. But there's no benefits or anything. We're very platonic."

"So platonic," Harry agreed, voice quieter than usual. 

"The embodiment of platonic," Louis added before allowing his grin to grow further. "But I'd very much like to _not_ be platonic with you." Harry may have growled Louis' name once more, as a reminder that 'normal' people did not tackle strangers in this fashion. Not that it made much of a difference - it never really did. He still nicked one of their pens, grabbed the boy's hand and scribbled his number against the back of his hand. "There's me number. All you gotta do is call." The poor guy seemed completely taken aback, lips parted and eyes fixated on the ink. "We gotta get going though. Hazza here has been up since four am, working since five. I gotta put him to bed. His own bed, for the record." It shouldn't be necessary to add the latter but, given the amount of jokes the duo had been subjected to since meeting each other, Harry knew it was. Specially since this guy also felt like there was more to them than friendship. 

"You, um. You could" he paused, looking at his quiet friend who did nothing but blink back. "You could sit with us. Both of you. Have some coffee." 

Excitement spread along Louis' features, chest filling like he was going to burst from it. As quickly as it struck him, it was gone, his body deflating as the temporary bliss was drawn from his veins as rapidly as it had been injected into him. Uncertainty filled him instead. "Harry's been up since-"

"We can stay," Harry told him, rather abruptly taking into consideration his tiredness. But it was worth it, to see Louis'eyes light up all over again, as though Harry had brought Christmas in early this year. "One coffee."

Usually, there would have been some negotiation, bargaining. Louis could have easily found a way to persuade Harry into agreeing for two, but he did not push this time, simply nodded with enthusiasm before pulling two chairs, purposely claiming the one closest to the bashful young man. "Me name's Louis, by the way," he announced and Harry could all but roll his eyes because, of course, Louis would charm someone's pants off before introductions were made. 

"I know. You wrote it on my hand."

"That was a rouse to get yours, you wanker."

"Oh." More blushing. How cute. "Liam," he finally obliged, gesturing towards his friend with his head. "He's Zayn."

 _Zayn._ He decided shortly after that the name suited the mysterious stranger; so strong and put together, but transpiring of simplicity. Just as his name did. Zayn. Louis' voice pulled him back. "I'm Louis. Obviously. And this is Harry. He's not usually this quiet. Just had a long day, didn't cha, babe?"

He heard himself hum quietly in agreement, not currently in the right mindset to be his charming self. Much of what followed was a blur to the baker. He recalled suddenly finding himself presented with coffee, the smell of it familiar, soothing almost, but he wasn't interested in actually drinking it. He had to sleep once he got home, not toss and turn all night until the alarm clock shook him awake at 4:00am.

Again, Harry seemed to have tuned out, suddenly struck by Louis' hand on his forearm. He could feel it now, all eyes on him and, usually, he thrived on this kind of attention. But a majority of his focus was currently on the aching of his feet and the soreness clinging to his calves. His back was tense, sweat making his clothes cling to his body because the kitchen was often the hottest place. Louis, being Louis, knew better than to reprimand and, instead, simply repeated himself. "Don't you wanna go outside with Zayn? He's going to smoke."

Sure enough, turning to his left, Zayn was standing, towering over him, looking down expectantly. Well, at least Harry assumed he must have been, waiting for a decision. His features never really seemed to give much away. Harry looked at Louis with big eyes. He didn't smoke. In fact, he had asthma. Why the hell would his friend think it of any interest to him to accompany a stranger outside for a smoking break? "I don't have a jacket."

"Take mine."

It dawned on him then: Louis was asking for privacy. Something he didn't often do in a discreet fashion. Not that this was, by any means, _discreet_ because everyone knew what he was requesting, but by Louis' standards... definitely. "Yeah," he finally breathed, willing his body to gather the necessary strength for him to stand. "Okay." And while his point on the jacket had been done when his brain was struggling to catch up with everything else, Harry still accepted it. The dark jacket his friend owned, with fur around the neck would keep him sheltered from the chilly air. It helped that the fabric was soft, comforting even. 

Within the bakery, there was always warmth. The moment Zayn pushed the door, held it open for Harry to exit first, he knew it was quite different outside. He failed to make any complaints, simply decided to press his back against the brick wall once Zayn settled on a spot, hoping to ease some of the aches. He was aware of Zayn lightening his cigarette. Harry's eyes fluttered closed then; he told himself he was just resting his eyes. He could hear Zayn taking drags, exhaling with audible sighs. He could almost feel his chest rise with each intake of that legal poison only to then release it into the cold air surrounding the duo. Harry was somewhat of a health freak; so Louis claimed. But he did not judge those who chose to corrupt their bodies with drugs. Because alcohol and tobacco were legal drugs. But still drugs. Given the comfortable distance between the two males, Harry's lungs did not feel threatened by second hand smoke so, honestly he had no room for complaints. He was simply wondering why was it Zayn would allow something dirty like a cigarette into his mouth, to rest upon his lips when there were far better alternatives. Such as Harry's lips. The thought no longer seemed odd to him and Harry no longer remembered why it had felt so bizarre earlier in the day. Instead, he envisioned what it might feel like to kiss Zayn, to have him kiss back, how it might feel. He imagined it to be steady and uncontrolled all at once, to drown in it, for it to spiral. And then he felt it: spiraling. His head spun until he felt sick from it, and he drowned in darkness shortly after. 

 

** Notes:                                                                                                                                                                                                                       **

Thanks to everyone who took the time to read the first chapter. I apologize for any typos/grammatical errors. I spent all night writing and then got too excited NOT to post it as soon as it was done. I proofread but given how late it's here, I don't know how reliable my eyes are. In the future I'll be sure to do so more time prior to posting. Or maybe I'll find a beta.

Follow me [HERE](http://adriannaspromo.tumblr.com/). Message me with any questions or suggestions! Good night xoxo


	2. You let him cook.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter was quite short, and so is this one. Keep in mind that they're a few days apart so I'll probably take my time with the upcoming one, make it a little longer. I wanted to give everyone a glimpse at the quartet's dynamics, seen as there wasn't much of it in the first chapter. And to Nialler fans... it's coming, don't you worry.  
> In short: Zayn makes dinner and Louis is edgy because Liam took him to second base without allowing him release. Harry is just very confused throughout the chapter, trying to make sense of things but his anatomy is playing against him, so he fails somewhat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been brought to my attention that the length of my paragraphs are a bit of a challenge on mobile--- I apologize. I completely forgot that some people use their phones to read fanfiction, since I'm never given the opportunity to do so.  
> I only wrote the last 300 words of the chapter today, so I took some time to shorten some of the paragraphs, snap the lengthier ones in two or three. It's a personal preference, really, as short dialogue repeatedly makes my eyes sore. Hopefully, this time around, it'll be a little easier for you to get around.

Emerging from the never ending darkness he had been engulfed by proved challenging. His head was uncommonly heavy. For several moments, he felt caged within his own body. He failed to groan when he wished to stretch, he couldn’t even shift his head towards the source of the piercing sound making him internally cringe. 

The sound of mindless chattering resonated within his ears, which were apparently sensitive because it left a throbbing ache against his temples. Harry did what he did best: lost track of time. He hoped to tune the noise out entirely, but doing so proved particularly hard when the participants in the distant conversation refused to shut. the. fuck. up. If he could, he would sigh and make his frustration known. Instead, he remained as he was: immobile. 

If asked, Harry would describe the time spent with the never ending inaudible words to be an agonizing imprisonment, similar to purgatory. He could not escape it, could not find a means to cut his sentence short. He had been served and was trapped, motionless but desperate for an exit. Funny, how something as small as a constant, rushed words could drive a person insane. 

On cue, the individuals producing noise grew louder, altering Harry’s breathing. He needed it to stop. And quite desperately. It sounded as though people were arguing. Harry had never been particularly skilled at confrontation and, heated exchanges often reminded him of how poorly his father had treated and addressed Anne in the past. 

Abruptly assaulted with great thirsty, his mouth felt dry and his tongue weighed within his mouth. What happened next could only described as being sucked back to reality. Green eyes suddenly snapped open just as he managed his first deep intake of air. He was greeted by a mass of faces, all looking down at him with curiosity. His eyes squeezed shut again. Usually he yearned for the attention of others but, right now, confusion had reigns over all else. The young man struggled to gather his wits, to form a coherent thought. 

The groan caught within his chest was finally set free, warmth pressing into the side of his throat shortly after. “Hazza?” The sound seemed to derive from the opposite direction from the touch he was melting into. His muscles turned lax, the warmth emitted into the back of his neck soothing.

Another groan followed and he would gladly remain as he was, finally in the quiet, on the receiving end of sentences he could finally understand. That was quite the improvement, in his opinion. One of the many reasons he’d initially been so frustrated was hearing but proving unable to make sense of what he was listening to. At least now he could understand the words with significant ease. In comparison.

Timidly, he allowed his eyes to open again, gave himself some time for his sight to adjust to the shift from complete darkness to a poorly lit street. He was briefly grateful for these surroundings, as opposed to one filled with brightness. He must have appeared confused when he finally looked into pools of chocolate, the fingers at the back of his neck squeezing reassuringly. 

##  _Zayn_. 

Unsurprisingly, his features were set in stone, a blank canvas. His eyes, however, were much too wide to transmit the same sentiment. He was... concerned, maybe. Or perhaps alarmed because, apparently, something had happened. Harry assumed, him laying on the cold pavement had something to do with it.

 Zayn’s eyes refused to release his own and, watching Zayn breathe proved efficient in steadying his own harsh breaths. The longer he stared the more he understood that there were several layers of Zayn, several shades of brown in his gaze and... was that a freckle? He would have asked, but his tongue failed to function upon request. It was probably for the best, save himself the embarrassment of sounding like an infatuated loser. 

Again he was reminded of his thirst, when he tried to swallow so his tongue might try to form another sentence. His dried lips pressed together, head tilting to the side, where he was met with sapphire hues. “About fucking time, you tosser.”

“What happened?” He finally managed, voice hoarse and throat sore from its use. His eyes fluttered closed, which was met with repeated _**no’s**_ on Louis’ end. So he forced himself to remain awake; if only for the duration of this conversation.

“You seem dehydrated,” Zayn told him gently and, suddenly his entire focus became this young man, with never ending eyelashes that were most likely the envy of anyone who had ever spared him a glimpse. Not to mention his steady jawline and protruding cheekbones. His fingers itched to touch his hair, feel whether or not it was smooth or thick and rough to the touch. 

When Harry failed to conjure Louis a response, merely blinking up at Zayn instead, his friend continued to speak. “Idiot. You know you need to drink water when you pull shitty hours. That kitchen is a damn sauna. I thought you were just tired.”

“I _am_ tired.”

“Tough,” Louis snapped back, but he knew that he was far from irritated, just somewhat concerned. The older of the two jumped to his feet. “Are you going to get up any time soon?”

There was a protesting sound turning within him the first time he made such an attempt, followed by a hiss manifesting the pain that jabbed into his skull. His body rejected any sign of movement, the headache he had making him see white. Zayn’s head snapped in Louis’ direction, eyes narrowing and he appeared so fierce in that moment that Harry couldn’t hold back the shudder which resulted from being exposed to such a sight. 

“He must be freezing,” Liam decided, brows furrowed together and it was the first time Harry took notice of him since regaining consciousness. “Can we move him now?”  

No one provided the boy with a response at first and, for a while, it was hard to tell whom the question was directed towards. Until Zayn nodded, one arm coming between Harry’s back and the harsh pavement he was still resting upon. There was a question in his eyes when Harry met his gaze and the only answer he thought to provide came in the form of his hand on the other’s shoulder while managing the necessary amount of strength to finally stand on his own two feet. 

It came as somewhat of a surprise, how strong Zayn was. His built was misleading, nothing about the confidence in which he was holding Harry leaving much room for doubt.

One standing,it took a while for the blood to stop rushing towards his head. He had to blink a couple of more times, Zayn watching him carefully with one hand between his neck and shoulder. It felt as though he were being grounded by nothing more than that touch and it settled him sufficiently to take notice that Alice and Jasper were outside, Emily as well - in a different outfit. Everyone was ogling and, for once, it was not flattering. At all. 

Harry was often touch starved. He could tackle anyone he was remotely comfortable with - though achieving such a deed was quite the challenge. He didn’t go out often, but when he did, alcohol unwound him further. He kissed his friends - females and males alike - as though it were nothing more than a peck on the cheek or a handshake. Sometimes, if he were intoxicated, he allowed that privilege to be extended towards good looking strangers. He never made it past first base with most, grew self conscious whenever their hands began to touch parts he had since long determined to be off limits. Louis would sometimes slap his ass, but that was entirely different. His roommate had no second agenda, did not want in his pants. Even if they made inappropriate jokes and Louis was comfortable with Harry’s lack of wardrobe at home... it was innocent. Strangers always wanted more than he could give. But Harry was hardly ever persuaded to become _that_ drunk. Partially due to his slight obsession with health. 

He’d lost track of his own thoughts, somehow found his way back to the beginning point: yes, he was touch starved. He was a romantic who had never had a significant other. As far as he was concerned, nothing regarding his sentiments on the matter were odd or misplaced. He loved being doted on, having his mother randomly kiss his cheek or Beatrice squeeze his cheeks while quietly praising him often got him through bad days. Because, yes, additionally to the need of physical contact and reassurance, Harry was keen on praising. It went a long way for him. And that kind of attention, he welcomed.

This kind, on the other hand... he wasn’t so comfortable with. Having people he knew, worked with suddenly eye him with fear, as though he might collapse again made his stomach sink with guilt for being the source of their concern, as well as deep embarrassment for the unnecessary chaos. 

“Let’s get him inside for a bit,” Liam announced and Harry was determined to find his footing, to no longer require the assistance Zayn so willingly provided. Because how pathetic was it that he needed someone to help him _walk_? He’d been walking since he was ten months, thank you very much. He could do this. And he did, pushing past the discomfort of any lingering jabs of pain at the sides of his head.

Louis had forced him to take a chair, Liam and Zayn exchanging a look he had yet to learn. The latter followed Alice into the kitchen while Liam towered over Louis, who took a chair opposite of Harry. His hand was resting on Louis’ shoulder as he bent down and hushed something into his ear before running off as well.  “Sorry for ruining your first date,” he teased lightly, even if his apology was heartfelt and filled with guilt.

“Don’t worry about it.” Louis glanced over his shoulder, where Liam was currently standing by the counter, conversing with Jasper. “I had him at _you’re fucking gorgeous_.” Harry scoffed, making his disbelief known. 

Liam had been flattered, at best. Later, he had been reluctant, second guessing the proximity shared between Harry and him. He didn’t think him fainting allowed Louis much time to woo the other boy. “I’m bitter that Zayn tried to out best me, what with him sweeping you off your feet. Quite literally at that.” 

To the untrained ear, Louis may have sounded casual, easy going as he always did. Harry, however, knew better, knew there was an unasked question lingering in the air. But he didn’t know what it was Louis wanted from him. He knew he believed severely in the soulmate business, was dead set on waiting for whomever’s injuries had tainted his body and left evidence.

 Zayn was... a set back. And probably more interested in pretty Alice, with the curly coily black hair and big brown eyes. She had a voluptuous figure that could make even Harry question his sexuality. She was uncommonly nice, with soft, timid smiles and even laughed at Harry’s lame _knock-knock_ jokes. Overall, she was a catch. He didn’t think he could compete with that. He should not want to. He needed to focus on finding his soulmate. And maybe finding the funds to finally attend college.

“Sod off,” Harry finally offered as a retort, only to have Louis arch an eyebrow at the delayed reply. “He keeps looking at you, you know.” Hopefully, the wanker would take bait, allow them to talk about him as opposed to Harry’s evidently obvious sentiments for the other boy. 

“I’m flattered, but I think I’ve made it pretty clear it’s his mate I’m interested.”

Emerald eyes turned, his voice significantly quieter when he spoke next. “I was talking about Liam.” 

“Is that a hint of jealousy I hear, Styles? You best keep an eye out on your boy. Once he catches a glimpse of this ass, he won’t think to look twice at you.” It was a challenge. Harry may not have known Louis since infancy but he knew the expression he was currently had on display and, sometimes, it certainly felt as though they’d spent a lifetime side by side. 

The duo had hit it off instantly, and maybe that was why everyone around them was quick to assume it was love. Harry supposed it was: brotherly love. If the two had in fact been soulmates, it wouldn’t have come as much of a surprise. Not all soulmates were romantic. Often, identical twins discovered that they were each other’s ‘ _it_ ’ and led pretty awesome lives. Some people were simply unbound. _Free spirits_ , they were called.

Niall Horan, a fit, blond Irish young man attending college with Louis was the prime example of these individuals. He had never known what it was like to be shaken awake in the middle of the night by a pain that was not your own. He did not mourn this outcome. In fact, he thought it a nuisance. He was always up for a good laugh, making poor jokes, faking confidence well enough to have several people convinced he was quite arrogant. He really wasn’t; just a young man looking to have a good time. He loved getting drunk whenever he wrapped up his exams, as though it was a reward of sorts. ~~Or tradition~~. Along with hooking up with pretty girls whose names he never learned. They often had boyfriends but, somehow, Niall had never had his nose broken by one of them. 

It was ironic, that Harry had met both boys at the same time, yet he could never decipher Niall’s thoughts,  his hints still complicated riddles yet he knew Louis’ games by heart, recognized that glint in his eye. 

He was pushing, daring Harry, though Harry didn’t know what it was he was aiming for. There was something omniscient in his smirk, as though he held the most well kept secret and was not permitted to share it with his roommate. He could hint until the other figured it out insteas. Harry didn’t think this to be a game he wanted to participate in. Regardless of what _he_ wanted, Harry was struck with the sensation that someone had already pressed PLAY.

* * *

 

It only took him twenty minutes to convince his friends and co-workers that he was ready to go home. Zayn had driven his car because Louis had yet to make use of his driver’s license - like hell if he was about to drive Anne’s car without some prior practice -, and Liam had sneaked into the back seat as soon as he realized that that was where Louis would be. Harry may or may not have made a comment regarding rules and how the sanctity of mother’s car was not to be compromised with Louis’ lewd desires. Liam had blushed of course, Zayn turning to face him for a second and Harry almost dared to think he might smile. He never did though. Louis feigned shock and hurt, but Harry could see his hand already resting on Liam’s knee. 

A sigh fled past his lips. They’d fed him something with a ridiculous amount calories - despite his protests and without any regards to his healthy diet -, forced him to drown a couple of bottles of water before agreeing to take him home. He was tired, _so_ tired. 

His eyelids suddenly weighed more than he could bear and it was quite the challenge, to keep them open. He may have momentarily dozed off, slipping back into consciousness when someone spoke to him firmly. 

With confusion still clinging to his delicate features, Harry turned his head to be met with dark eyes. They were at a red light, Zayn’s face stern but far from angry or cruel. He was simply standing his ground, on what matter Harry had yet to figure out. “You can’t sleep yet.” It was incomprehensible, how someone could sound so imperative while simultaneously coming across as kind. 

Despite Zayn’s perfect approach, Harry was still very much inclined to pout. Louis seemed to have guessed as much, his fingers pressing into Harry’s seat so he’d glance at the rear view mirror to meet his friend’s gaze. Anyone else may have thought the male to be seriously angry. “Stop that shit. You were passed out for over two minutes. Ma’ says you can’t sleep just yet.” His lips parted to protest but, somehow, he thought better of it, accepting the bottle of cool water Louis offered.

The key to a stable friendship with Louis Tomlinson was knowing how to pick your battles. Tonight, most of what he demanded, Harry would allow. He knew he’d messed up, failed to take care of himself even when Anne constantly reminded him to do so. 

##                                                                                   Anne....

“I didn’t tell her, ” Louis announced, as though he knew where Harry’s mind had wondered off to. He barely mastered a nod, forcing himself to straighten his posture in a lame attempt to force himself to be alert. “I reckoned the time will come when I do something stupid and find myself at hospital. I fully expect you **_not_** to call me mum either.”

The hum he produced as a short response seemed to have been satisfying enough for Louis to redirect his attention towards the boy sitting in the backseat with him. Usually, Harry loved being front row of a love story in the making but tonight he was just... out of it. The idea of a warm bath or hot shower was immensely tempting, but his bed seemed to call for him a lot louder. The three assholes in his car, however, definitely had other plans. 

Such an assumption was proven right when he walked past his front door, Zayn following closely behind. The remaining two had fallen back, Louis probably already closing in on poor Liam, making a move. Hopefully Zayn’s friend wasn’t offended by sudden advances and wouldn’t retaliate by leaving his hand print on Louis’ pretty face. Harry would never hear the end of it.

“What are you doing?” Zayn questioned and, while Harry had his back to him, already bending over to retrieve pots and pans from the lower cupboards, he could practically feel the frown on his face. He would not be surprised, though, if he looked up, only to be met with blank features.

“Dinner, hopefully,” he replied simply, opening the fridge and simultaneously ignoring his headache. “Louis can’t handle anything that’s more challenging than instantaneous pasta. And he’ll still manage to burn that. And since _you_ won’t let me sleep...”

No response followed and, to most, it may have been interpreted as victory. Harry knew better. He could almost feel Zayn’s disagreement radiating from where he was standing. He’d take Zayn’s silence over Louis’ constant nagging any day. So he continued to do as he had been, only halting when he turned to find Zayn so close, he almost stumbled back in surprise. 

His breath hitched, heartbeat pounding within his chest from surprise. The pot in his hands was taken away and, once again, he found himself at the receiving end of a commanding voice. “Sit.” 

For a majority of the past twenty four hours, Harry had felt afloat. He had been overwhelmed with excessive work and odd hours, his body pushed to its limits due to his neglect. He still had yet to understand how it was that there was a stranger in his apartment, soon to be joined by another. It all felt, overall, surreal. 

But when Zayn spoke as he did then, as he had in the car or when Harry first pulled through the tides of unconsciousness, he felt grounded, anchored to the earth by a nonsensical force that was not gravity.

Still tempted to retaliate with a pout or and actual  _‘but Zayn_ ’, he resisted the urge and, instead, found himself looking at the pot held in seemingly steady hands. “You’re not going to burn my kitchen down, are you?” There was no hint of humor in his tone, but he definitely had not intended it to be a serious question.

Zayn seemed to have interpreted it as such, nonetheless, simply stating ' _no_ ,' in return before side eyeing the fridge. If that was his request for permission, he clearly had not roamed many stranger’s fridge in the past. At least he was sufficiently polite to ask, rather than just open and seek for what he felt he needed. Louis would have done the latter. 

“Go ahead,” Harry allowed, taking a step back because he was suddenly permitted a whiff of Zayn’s scent and cologne, reminding him of the proximity they shared. He’d decided then that, if he was not allowed to cook, then he was in desperate need of another distraction. Seen as how sleep was not an option. 

He had to stop by the door because there was no longer sounds of movement deriving from the place Zayn was supposed to be and the hairs at the back of his neck stood, announcing the pair of dark brown eyes fixated on him. “I’m just going to get a book, yeah?”  When he turned, Zayn was already focused on the chopping board and the vegetables he was slicing, rather than Harry, so he took it as acceptance.

Today seemed to be the embodiment of bizarre, Harry decided while entering his room. He had yet to determine if he felt that way due to the events following up to this moment, or the outcome of it all. Perhaps it were both. Maybe tomorrow he’d wake up, glad that Louis and he had met two seemingly impeccable young men. Of course, odds were, Louis would fuck it all up by somehow insulting Liam at some point. But one could always dream. And Harry had not yet forgotten how his friend had ogled at the male the first time they met. 

Louis and Liam had not yet returned from the garage. Harry knew his roommate well enough not to be shocked but Zayn continuously checked the front door, which was still open. He spared Harry a glimpse when he returned, didn’t protest to the books he deposed of on the kitchen island. 

He may not have attended college, or decided what he would be studying if and when he finally enrolled, but Harry had read once that learning new languages kept the mind sharp. So he’d taken on French and Hebrew. After acing the summer courses, he was advised to practice or he’d lose his touch. So he did, leveling up on each language rather than learn a new one - but only because in his home town, those were the only two options. In the city, there were too many and he simply could not decide on which to make his third foreign language.

“You have a nice place,” Zayn stated after maybe half an hour, a couple of pots and pans on the stove. Harry had glanced up from his grammatical exercises often enough to know Zayn’s cooking was not life threatening. Actually, the guy had skill, moved swiftly around the kitchen. He was no stranger to culinary, but Harry doubted he made a living from it. It was strange, to be on the other end of the deal. He was usually the one stuck behind the stove with Louis doing assignments last minute while he did so.  

“You’ve only seen the kitchen,” Harry pointed out, his eyes still analyzing the words laid out in sheets of papers, words he understood any other day of the week but was suddenly struggling with. Though it was mostly due to his vision growing blurry and the lingering remains of his headache jeopardizing his concentration. 

“Mnm,” Zayn conceived. “You have a nice kitchen.”

“It belongs to a distant cousin,” Harry explained, dropping his pencil loudly, cracking his neck. “She married some rich bloke and moved into central London. Since she has no use for this place, she said I could stay here. Louis needed a room, I don’t like being alone, so it all worked out. We’re not secretly trust fund babies or anything.”

Zayn did not deny making such an assumption. Harry couldn’t really blame him. Perhaps his general softness allowed him a seemingly posh appearance. Even as a child, kids at school had mocked him for it. It was odd, considering how kind and gentle he’d always been, as opposed to arrogant and ambitious. The world, however, was a superficial place. First impressions ruled over most everything else. Suddenly, Harry found himself wondering what kind of first impression he’d left on Zayn.

Any further thoughts on the matter were temporarily dismissed with Liam and Louis’ delayed arrival. Louis was quick to announce that he’d be taking a shower from the hallways, Liam closing the front door and joining the others in the kitchen. He seemed mostly unfazed but something about the way he looked was... smug. Not in the same way Louis often made the sentiment known, loud and obvious, but certainly there, hanging in the slight curve of his lips. And because Harry could be just as shameless as Louis, he glanced down, seeking confirmation. Yup, if the tent Liam was sporting was evidence, they’d been up to some funny business and, it appeared Liam called the shots. Louis was probably enduring one hell of a cold shower at the current time. 

Inexperienced as he may have been, Harry had since long learned the signs of a heavy make out session. Liam’s lips had not been that swollen, nor glistening with... _something_ when they were in the car. He had not been nearly as amused, but rather played the flustered one. 

It may have easily been a decoy, now that Harry thought of it. There was no telling, really, who played the dominant in any relationship. Sometimes the smaller one had the most strength, or simply knew how to carry themselves in a fashion that made the other submit. Sometimes the seemingly bossy one was the one who needed to submit the most. Looks were deceiving. 

Harry, better than most, knew as much. Maybe he didn’t have first hand experience, but Louis shared too much of his own and Niall also seemed to lack a filter. So he knew... and just as he knew that some needed control and others needed to hand it over, there were also switches: people who could do both. He thought he might easily be a switch, giving everything at least one try because he was so naturally curious. And when he finally did find his soulmate... well, he’d trust them, wouldn’t he? Maybe not at first, maybe not instantly, but eventually. He had to. So he would finally explore where he’d never ventured into before due to fear. 

He’d tuned out, he realized, head still set at Liam’s middle even when he was talking to Zayn, who was looking at Harry. Focus was regained. Did Zayn realize he’d faded into the depths of his own mind, or had he assumed he was looking at Liam’s current boner? Did it matter? Rather than blush in shame, he simply looked down at his exercises again, picked up where he had left off.

Ten minutes later, he was interrupted by the sound of an indignant Louis. “You let him cook,” which was met with an unimpressed look on Harry’s end while his friend stared at the several dishes being cooked on their fancy stove. 

It had been the one time Harry had spent a larger sum of money than he was comfortable with: their stove. He’d saved up for a couple of months and he hadn’t had to dig into his savings to do so. It was an investment, he told himself, seen as he often found himself experimenting on days off. Not to mention, they needed homemade food.  

“I offered,” Zayn said, after a prolonged silence settled between the four. He seemed slightly confused, as though he were not certain Louis were shocked that his roommate had the audacity to ask their guests to cook or...

“I’m supervising,” Harry lied, still tracing French words with his pencil.

“You let _him_ cook,” Louis repeated, his words directed entirely at Harry, who decided to shut his books then because, evidently, this was not going to be dropped anytime soon. “First time in this bloody apartment and you let him cook! I’ve been asking-”

“He didn’t chop off his finger _trying_ to dice onions,” Harry pointed out, rather calmly.

“I didn’t chop off my finger,” Louis protested, tone dramatic. “I _may_ have cut some of the skin off but-”

“Last time you made toast, the fire alarm went out.”

Louis grew flustered, the tip of his ears turning read. Liam seemed to find the sight endearing, smiling fondly and Harry prayed to the Gods above that he didn’t decide to tackle the smaller of the two just then. Thankfully, Liam seemed to possess greater control than his friend. 

Eventually, Louis caved. “Fine,” he mumbled, taking a seat on one of the counter stools, beside Harry. Zayn had returned to his culinary activities, Liam watching closely but occasionally checking on the other two. “How’s it coming along?” he questioned, tone far quieter than usual as he gestured towards Harry’s book. 

“It’s coming,” he replied with a slight shrug. “Few more assignments and they’ll upgrade me.”

“As they should.” He allowed a smile, the kind he offered whenever Harry nailed a new recipe or created something for the bakery. It was common, for it to surface whenever he made progress with languages as well. “Decided on the third yet?”

Again, Harry shrugged. Louis wasn’t usually this inquisitive. He was supportive, yes, but this was... not his usual behavior. He didn’t know if it was the two unfamiliar presences bringing all the forward, or the need to keep Harry awake a little longer. But he complied. Because, today, he would. “Not yet. I think I want to learn something with a different alphabet. Russian, maybe. Or Greek. Or Hindi.”

“Zayn speaks Hindi,” Liam announced excitedly, looking at Louis rather than the friend he’d just mentioned. He spoke with the kind of pride that might suggest this to be his very own accomplishment. Harry wondered if he was truthfully that proud of his friend, or just earnest to participate in a conversation featuring Louis.

Zayn, however, had somewhat tensed and then, apparently, willed himself to relax as he dimmed setting of the stove, allowed the food to cook steadily for the last few minutes. 

“I haven’t decided on anything yet,” Harry repeated, resorting to a third shrug when Zayn leaned against the counter, arms folded in front of his chest. 

He didn’t want to allow Zayn to be pushed into a corner, left without a choice other than to give up information regarding his knowledge in Hindi and how he’d obtained it. Harry was willing to bet a large sum of money that it was connected to his heritage and, maybe, assholes had made him feel he had to be reluctant about his ancestry. People could be racist and cruel. Harry hoped he knew better than to assume Louis or himself would ever dare to insult his background. They may have been ignorant on the matter, curious, but they would put their best efforts into ensuring he felt proud rather than ashamed of his roots. 

For now, however, it was easier to have Louis rant about football, Ronaldo vs Beckham. He was incredibly torn, his gut opting for the first but patriarchy inclining towards the second. Liam did his best to give in his two cents on the matter, but it quickly became apparent that he didn’t have much understanding in sports. Or this one, in particular. 

* * *

 

Dinner had been a blur after the first few moments. Harry recalled savoring the spicy soup, had some memory of Louis being on edge and somewhat snappy towards Liam. The latter seemed empathetic, as though he knew exactly _why_ his roommate was so incredibly irritated. It took a few attempts but, eventually, he managed to ignore the back and forth banter between the two, opting to count each spoonful, try to peel back the layers so he could figure out what recipe Zayn had used. 

Beside him, the cook of the evening had been quiet. That had been something Harry had quickly learned: Zayn was quiet, preferred to observe rather than participate. It appeared Harry would be the study of his observations for the day. As well as Louis and Liam who, admittedly, were amusing to watch. 

“Headache?” He’d asked just as Harry’s fingertips grazed his forehead. 

No, not as bad as it had first been, back at the bakery. He shook his head, instantly regretting the decision, but he thought he’d masked his short lived discomfort. “Just the end of one.”

He knew, even with his attention on the bowl of soup, that Zayn had been watching. Even now, laying in his bed looking back, Harry could easily remember what it felt like, having Zayn’s undivided attention, how it made his chest fill with something he very much approved of. 

Zayn was an odd character, unlike anyone the baker had ever met. His physical appearance was ridiculous, out of a day dream of sorts. Harry still feared that, come morning, he’d learn that none of it had been real, that there was no Zayn, with the thick lashes and sexy scruff.  He had to actively remind himself that all of this was unimportant.

Harry had watched far too many individuals call bluff on the whole soulmate ordeal and become involved with others. They ignored the scar tissue on their skins, had been so stubborn and determined to prove everyone else wrong. Non-believers. 

The saddest part was that, nine times out of ten, these so called non-believers invested quite a lot of their time, energy and heart in these relationships, only to have them brutally terminated. He’d watched his sister break his neighbor's heart when she’d met her soulmate. The justification perhaps the most heartbreaking of all: _I just know_. Because, who stands a chance against soulmates? No one.

It was as he’d witnessed the girl next door break into heart wrenching sobs that he decided he would never do that to another human being. Or allow himself to be in that position. So as tempting as the idea of touching Zayn, kissing him was... no matter how much the imaginary visuals haunted him, Harry would push past it. 

Perhaps Liam and Louis weren’t soulmates after all, and his roommate would find a way to sink that ship within the week. After all, Louis bored spectacularly easy. Maybe then Liam and Zayn would leave their lives as they had entered them: swiftly and discreetly. 

##                                         One could always hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aiming to commence the third chapter tonight sometime and, hopefully, I'll release it sometime during the weekend.  
> I'm also going to apologize for any spelling or grammatical errors. Bear in mind English is NOT my first language. Hope you all have a wonderful rest of a good week.
> 
> Feel free to follow/message me [HERE](http://adriannaspromo.tumblr.com) 


	3. Lewd.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis and Harry cuddle and talk soulmates. Harry sees stuff, _things_. A new character is introduced. Plenty of Harry internal monologues. Zayn and Harry have some one on one time for the first time since dinner, but it's short. Slow burn, remember?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some heavy NSFW content. I know it's quite brief and, rest assured, when I finally do write a sex scene it will be far more extensive in comparison. This was mostly just a preview, or a reward for your patience.  
> Well, it was necessary to the story, but I hope you'll enjoy it nonetheless.  
> As far as Louis and Liam go, I'll probably include a lot of them in the story. I haven't quite decided on how much of them we'll get to see but, for now, I'm inclined to incorporate them often.

“What is this?” 

A shrug was all he got at first. Until Harry turned to face his mate with an arched eyebrow, it appeared to be all he was going to get. “Some Arabian cuisine shit,” Louis told him after taking notice of his persistent roommate, rolling his eyes at the attention. He abandoned whatever essay he’d been working on in the living room to join Harry in the kitchen. “Really good though.”

He’d strategically filled their apartment with the scent of delicious food, thus drawing Harry out of his room before 10:00 am. Louis had decided, the previous night, that Harry would not be working this Friday. For once, Harry did not protest. Or rather, he’d tried until Louis shoved his mobile against Harry’s ear, allowing Beatrice to lecture him for all of five seconds before he complied. 

“Leftovers from last night,” Louis stated, when Harry said nothing. “Makes you wonder what other hidden talents Liam’s mate has up his sleeve.” 

There it was, the infamous Tomlinson smirk that transpired trouble. He refused to fall into that poorly built trap, claiming a fork instead and poking at the food. He’d only been permitted soup for dinner, could remember someone pointing out that, given what had occured outside the bakery, it was best he sleep on a light stomach. 

Harry had thought the Arabian cuisine to be heavy in spices and deep fried foods. Perhaps it was, but Zayn seemed to have invested in veggie stir-fried, alongside something that resembled an omelet, some boiled eggs covered in a yellow substance and a crepe-like dish. There was no room for complaints, seen as there was no dressing, sauces or heavy proteins that might upset his currently empty stomach.

Having devoured everything that had been laid out for him, the young man drowned the atrociously large glass of water Louis offered him shortly after. Harry felt more content in that moment than he had throughout the last forty eight hours. He even requested that Louis send Liam a text thanking Zayn for his troubles. 

For the remaining of the morning, Louis sat at the edge of the couch, Harry’s head on his lap. Louis’ digits carded though Harry’s hair while he simultaneously texted. It appeared Liam had decided to give him a chance, after all. It was something Harry would be grateful for later, because a rejected Louis was harder to handle than the average one.

“Do you think he’s your soulmate?” Harry asked, just as Tom got struck by a baseball bat on the screen, Jerry snickering at his latest accomplishment. 

Anyone else would have tensed, hesitated. Not Louis. Fucking Louis remained completely unfazed, in a way that Harry knew, were the roles reversed, he would _**not**_ be. Bony fingers continuously stroked his hair as though Harry had questioned him about his exams or the weather. “Liam?” he asked back, shrugging even before Harry confirmed; he knew it to be a rhetorical question. “Pretty sure he is, yeah. But we haven’t like, compared scars or anything.”

Louis didn’t have many of those; not in retrospective. He had a bit of star-shaped one by his knee. He’d told Harry, in excruciating detail, about the day he felt it form; how he’d been lounging about in his home, playing some video game when, seemingly out of nowhere, blood soaked his jeans followed by a dull burn jabbing at his articulations. 

Over the years, he’d formulated several theories as to how his soulmate earned them both such a horrid looking thing. He’d been convinced someone threw salt in the open wound at some point, or poked around at it, because he felt pain for quite a while. The intensity of the sensation had varied, peaking and then subsiding randomly until at long last, Louis thought maybe his soulmate has sought their mom as he’d done, found a caretaker to disinfect and properly bandage the damage. 

It must have taken them several minutes too long, Harry thought, because while the scar was shaped as something beautiful, it was anything but, sticking out whenever Louis had his legs exposed. As they spoke of it, he knew he was already tapping against the specific region, humming whenever Louis scratched his scalp. 

“So, are you going to ask him? To compare,” he clarified once he looked up and was met with a frown. 

Unsurprisingly, Louis’ face broke into a grin. “Jesus, mate. And you call me straight forward. You can’t just... up and go to someone you’ve met the day before, and ask.”

“Why not?”

“I suppose _you_ would,” Louis decided to respond, after pondering on the question. He ignored the scoff Harry produced. “Most people don’t go about their business like that.”

For several moments, there was no sound other than that emitted from the television. “I just don’t get-”

“-why I’d bother if he’s not even the one?” he’d guessed, but it hardly sounded malicious. He knew Harry’s stance on the matter, but didn’t understand it. The same applied to Harry in regards of Louis’ perspective. “You know I hate using deep, shitty quotes to make a point, yeah? But haven’t you ever heard that: _a relationship isn’t a failure just because it didn’t last forever_? Or some shit along those lines.”

They’d only had this conversation a handful of times, but Harry knew enough. He knew Louis believed in soulmates as much as the next person, but remained open minded. He knew Louis had loved before and was willing to love again before meeting his soulmate. His roommate was a different kind of person, the type who wanted to live life to its fullest, see everything, do anything. Harry, on the other hand, was far more cautious with his heart. Ironically, his reputation stated otherwise. He blamed it on the amicable flirting. 

A second time, he allowed the cartoons playing to dominate whatever debate they may have fallen into. Only two episodes later did Harry sit up, somewhat mourning the loss of soothing strokes to his skull. 

Both of Louis’ eyebrows rose. As one of the few people close enough to be granted permission to touch and be touched by Harry, Louis had quickly learned how tactile he could be. It was uncommon for Harry to be the first to step away from it. 

“You’re sure you’re fine with going out with him, potentially setting yourself up for heartbreak?” 

For a split second, it seemed Louis had been taken aback. If Harry were not somewhat concerned for his friend, he may have been washed over with a sense of satisfaction. Louis soon after regained his composure. “It’s a gamble either way.”

“No, it isn’t! Soulmates-”

“Come off it, Harry. Yeh know soulmates don’t always work out,” he snapped, his accent slipping through the cracks of his irritation. “They meet too young, their political views are too different, religion weighs in sometimes. Sometimes it doesn’t work either. Plenty of people marry non-soulmates and live happily ever after.”

“Free spirits! Or people whose soulmates are relatives.”

Louis' features had softened. He was no longer agitated as the other was. “No,” Harry,” he began slowly, voice uncharacteristically calm. “People with soulmates sometimes choose to be with someone who isn’t theirs. And they’re happy. Have you never met anyone who did that?”

He had not sounded snappy then, but Harry was still defensive, frowning and racking his brain for a couple who may not have been soulmates. There was no way to know for certain. He didn’t ask every couple he knew how they’d become an item, whether or not they were magically bound to the person they were with. He’d always _assumed_. And now he felt like an idiot. 

“Okay, but in school they said that most soulmates do come together, even when not spontaneously; that bad things happened when they didn’t.”

A shrug was the initial response. “I think they mostly meant like, the rejected one getting angry and self harming to punish the one calling the shots,” he explained. “But yeah, there are cases of people whose bond is so deep they ache to be together. You see it with twins the most. Might be a biological thing there. Me mum survived me dad leaving, didn’t she? It’s different for everyone, I guess.” And he gave a second shrug, a semi-defeated look ghosting over his features.

Two months; that was how long it’d been since the two males had decided to share a space, since Anne had sat beside Louis one day in the bakery, spent an hour chatting and then decided they’d be roommates. Four weeks. Sixty days. Harry had almost instantly heard of how much of an asshole Louis father had been and even then, as most of him appeared put together and unaffected, Harry knew better. So he’d leaned into his friend, knowing he wouldn’t be rejected, and sighed. 

His cheek was pressed to Louis’ shoulder, not much else of their bodies touching. “It’s your decision.” He could feel Louis smile, because Louis knew even before they’d discussed it that Harry would not force his views or methods upon his friend. He just wanted to understand. And became on edge when he didn’t. 

“A bit strange, us having this conversation after my share of one night stands, mate.”

“That’s different.” While it was his choice not to engage in casual sex, Harry was all too familiar with it. Mostly due to his sister’s wild adventures throughout his adolescence. 

Some people fucked to release steam, some people had meaningless sex because it was fun and others... well, they had aches that only pleasure could dim. Louis had seemed to fall under the second category. What Harry’d witnessed the day before with Liam... that was not how his friend generally went about getting laid. Evidence of as much, was that when stating that Liam was an exception of sorts, Louis merely hummed in agreement, gaze set on the TV again. 

“You’re giving Liam the chance to break your heart.” Harry knew he sounded small, quiet, maybe even frightened. Because he was. For a fraction of a second, he imagined himself taking the leap Louis was and it scared the living crap out of him. 

“You should try it sometime, Haz,” he’d said simply, a few moments after. “Might enjoy feeling alive for once.” At Harry’s scoff, he finally chuckled, allowing Harry to relax. “Either way, it’s irrelevant. If he leaves me with another unattended boner, I’m telling him to hit the curb. Soulmate or otherwise.”

Harry was calling his bluff on that one.

* * *

 

Sunday, the young male had resumed his usual routine. Louis had tried - and almost succeeded - to jeopardize Harry’s plans. He’d pointed out that Sunday translated to no lectures and, seen as he was up to date with everything, he’d be free. He’d proceeded to list several activities which he knew Harry would be interested in. He’d just about pouted when Harry stuck to his guns. 

There had been a few times, over the course of the day, when Harry had almost regretted his decision. Louis had traded him for Liam, still keeping himself busy, but opted to torture Harry with several snapchat stories. Harry knew this to be intentional because, most days, the bakery was packed with students and adults alike. Sundays were slow. A majority of their clientele preferred to stay in, be lazy. So while he’d usually lack the time to consult his phone, Louis knew that today, Harry would be doing so when killing time.

It was best that he clocked in on a Sunday nonetheless, doing significantly less amount of hours He needed to be eased back into his usual pace, even if he’d only been given the one day off.

He found himself more certain of his decision as the week progressed. Falling back into his regular schedule was done smoothly. Beatrice called twice a day, at the very least, to check up on him. She would also pop in quickly whenever she found the time, promised not to spill the beans to Anne when she returned to Redditch. Louis, on the other hand, insisted on a daily basis that Harry had needed more time off. The baker was convinced his friend simply yearned for a distraction from his course load. 

Liam was more spoken of than seen. The two seemed to spend most of their ‘bonding time’ on campus, but Louis was only too happy to fill Harry in on any progress at the end of the day. 

Sometimes he’d mention Zayn and Harry would nod whenever he thought he should. Louis no longer pushed Harry in that direction. He’d been relieved. And a little disappointment; a contradictory combination of sentiments he found himself experiencing both times Louis and Liam had stopped by the bakery to visit. 

He’d never even realized he wanted Zayn to do the same, until his stomach had sunk at the missing third person. He scolded himself in the after warmth, demanded that he pull himself together. Zayn was impossibly attractive, which was why he was also out of his league. And dangerous. He needed to focus on his primary goals: make money in order to attend college, and find his soulmate. 

Regardless of his promise to not overdo it, Harry had felt drained by the time he walked out of the bakery ten days after the dehydration incident. Any other day and he would have found the time to cook lunch but, seen as how much of a git Louis had been to him lately, the baker determined he could dismiss himself from said responsibility just this once.

Of course, being the sweetheart that he was, Harry made a quick detour, purchasing some takeout for both. If confronted, he’d pointed out firmly that there was no dessert. So Louis would still feel reprimanded.

The thing about Harry was that he was loud. He was tall and broad, muscular even in certain regions, but he lacked coordination. He knocked things over, bruised like a peach. It was common for him to stumble upon his own feet, and he was far more familiar with the floor of his apartment than he’d like to admit. 

Bottom line was: he hardly ever went unnoticed. Today, of all days, he had not dropped the takeout or stumbled with keys, sliding the right one into the keyhole his first attempt. When he’d reached back with his foot to swing the door shut, it had not slammed as it usually did, ordinarily making him cringe. 

Every day, he came in with a bang. So why was it, that the one day he didn’t, had to be the day Louis was in their living room, on his knee, swallowing down Liam’s entire length and barely displaying much of a gagging reflex. In fact, from where Harry was standing, it appeared he had none. 

##              Fucking hell. 

Liam had one hand cupping Louis’ face, thumb tracing his jawline. They were both looking at each other with such profound heat, Harry almost felt more guilty observing them lock eyes than he did for having walked in on a blowjob. He also had a routine for awkward episodes such as these. Being Gemma Styles’ brother finally showed to have its perks. 

Rather than clear his throat or drop the takeout, Harry left. As quietly as he’d walked in. But because this time around he was actually trying, when he entered his room, the door shut louder than he had hoped for. 

## Shit.

He’d instantly fallen onto his bed, landing on his tummy. With his face buried into the duvet, the youngest of the household groaned. His room was much too far from the living room for him to take notice, even if Liam and Louis decided to speak rather than whisper to each other. But he could hear footsteps as they grew closer and braced himself for the loud hammering of Louis’ fist to his door.

 _Like clockwork,_ he thought, while simultaneously worrying for the wooden structure. “Sod off,” the boy hissed loudly.

Louis, evidently, took it as an invitation because, sure enough, he’d walked into Harry’s space. Liam had not followed. “Did you-”

“Trust me, I wish I hadn’t.” His face pressed into his pillow, inhaling deeply. He was aware of Louis’ presence, lingering in his room. Why hadn’t he fucked off yet, finished what he’d started?

When it became apparent that he wouldn’t be doing so any time soon, Harry looked over his shoulder once more. “Are you...” A prolonged pause followed, his hands then moving about aimlessly and Harry wasn’t sure what they were meant to explain. He could generally read Louis like a book. This palpable awkwardness was different, as though he were embarrassed and wary. “Angry? Like... upset?”

“I know the definition of angry, Louis.” He couldn’t help but glare, hardly feeling apologetic when his roommate flinched. Louis knew, knew better than anyone how Harry despised having people address him as though he were stupid. Because he was not. 

He spoke slowly, ran off topic because there always seemed to be a thousand and one thought muddled up within his brain. Untangling them was the challenge. But he had thoughts, many of them. He was not fucking dumb. 

He knew people thought him to be odd, different, naive. Some people felt pity, some decided he was a nuisance; neither particularly flattering. He had also overheard people describe him as _a little wet behind the ears_ or accomplished, _all things considered_. 

Different, a dreamer, someone who didn’t fit a mold. He was all of those three things and, in his puberty, he’d resent himself for it. Until he made the conscious decision to start liking himself, quirks and all. From that moment on, he never permitted that anyone else snap him back into his old self-loathing ways, no matter how bad the bad days got. 

Louis had unintentionally hit a sore spot. “You know that’s not what I was... I’m the one struggling to express myself. It’s not a reflection on you. I just...” he paused, seemingly finding trouble with words again. “You just walked into your place and I was... doing **_that_**. It’s not really sanitary and I know you have a thing about space and like, I respect that. And you. And this apartment. We just... got caught in the heat of the moment and he said I could if-”

“I’m not angry, Louis,” he finally assured. “It was fun watching you try to explain yourself though,” he added, a timid grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It’s fine. It’s our place now, yeah? You can do whatever you want. With whomever you want. Just... memorize my schedule or something. Maybe text me next time, put a tie on the doorknob. And you’re cleaning wherever you fool around.”

Disbelief was the first emotion Harry recognized, before a grin spread along his friend’s lips. He dared to smack the baker’s shoulder which, given he was currently in a laying position, was a little awkward. 

“Is it okay if I...” he cut himself off by glancing towards the exit and Harry nodded. He didn’t need Louis to conclude the sentence to know he had a horny and hard Liam waiting. 

“Just don’t scream the place down. I need a nap.” 

Louis threw a saucy comment at him on his way out, but Harry was no longer paying him much attention. Instead, he found himself thinking of blowjobs. And Zayn. It was a seemingly random connection, he realized as he pressed his chin into his pillow.

Harry was twenty one and inexperienced, but he had always been curious. Porn, while not accurate in the slightest sometimes, had proved to be a great source of research. Google and forums assisted as well, but people like Harry required visuals. Not that his body rejected the allure of watching others have sex, or was above enjoying the sounds they made when it wasn’t forced. 

He could remember being sixteen and so paranoid. He would search for hours at an end, for definitions and terms, trying to absorb as much information as possible during those short periods of time. He’d delete the history, swipe the disc clean and then pretend as though nothing had been done about it. Until the next time. 

Coming to terms with his sexuality had never been much of an issue. Gemma has always known that she swung both ways. He had the advantage of an open minded mother and a sister who could to relate. At least, to an extent. He had no reason to be shy or ashamed, but he had not been ready then to share. 

So he resorted to the internet and learned as much as he could. Theory was important, he told himself. He had to be prepared. He could not expect someone else to talk him through it, treat him properly. The young man refused to go in blind, allow anyone that much power over him and his body. 

People were quick to notice how naive Harry was at times, but he was responsible where it mattered. And sex... it mattered. Sex was how humans reproduced, how certain diseases were transmitted. Sex gone wrong left scars. He would not take the chance of walking into something uninformed and be tricked. While he would insist that he was an excellent judge of character, even he could be played. So he studied and watched.

Louis blowing Liam was not necessarily as scandalous as it could have been. Harry wished he could have been spared the sight, considering it was a friend, but he was not scarred for life. It was still strange however that, when confronted with such a scene, he think of Zayn. 

Zayn, whose lips were not nearly as full or pink as Harry’s, but they would still probably look lovely wrapped around his cock. It was an odd vision, to think of Zayn on his knees with the sole goal of pleasuring him. Or teasing. At best, Harry could imagine them in bed. Unless, of course, it were Harry kneeling before the slim young man. 

He would be severely disappointed, however, if Zayn proved to be as chivalrous as Liam. He didn’t think he’d be sated with just the tip of Zayn’s cock to suckle on. No, he’d want it all. Greedily. 

He’d want it to be too much. He’d want to gag around him and have Zayn insist he continue to take it. He’d want his voice to be hoarse the next day so everyone knew his mouth had been fucked. He’d want Zayn’s fingers in his hair, not cupping his face, tugging, pulling, demanding for more even when Harry was giving him all he got. 

If Harry should ever get on his knees for anyone - or, in this particular imaginary scenario, Zayn -, he’d want it to be a sloppy blowjob; the kind that leave the person on the receiving end with quivering thighs and cumming so hard they can’t even open their eyes until moments after. He’d want his flesh stained with evidence, harsh breaths and flushed skin in the after warmth. 

The longer he thought about it, the more unsettled he felt. So he’d rolled onto his back, inhaling deeply but, even when blinking at the ceiling, all he could imagine was the taste of Zayn, before and after climax. He’d only care for light caresses after he’d made him cum at least once. Harry was sure he’d have to earn Zayn’s palm cradling his cheek, but he was equally confident that, if instructed properly, he could achieve such a thing.

Given the nature of his thoughts, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that he was no longer comfortable in his tight jeans. He tried readjusting himself, hips shifting on his bed but the motion only led to his zipper digging into his erection. 

Jeans were irritably discarded and Harry, for once, resisted nudity. Something about getting off to the thought of Zayn... But maybe he’d never have to see Zayn again. At least, not in a small gathering as they had last time. He hadn’t so far. He could do this. He could have one moment of guilt ridden pleasure, where he caved into whatever attraction he’d developed for the young man and then move past it without any causalities a hook up could have brought.

With a palm slick of lube, Harry tugged and pulled at his length, shoving himself off the edge twice. Consecutively. If he murmured Zayn’s name somewhere between the aggressive motions of his fist, it was to be blamed on the fantasy, not the possibility of it becoming a reality. 

~~At least he’d resisted the urge to finger himself.~~

Laying against warm covers, his torso covered in cum, Harry struggled to even his breathing. He caught a glimpse of his drawer, only briefly wondering if he’d need his inhaler for the first time in six years. He wouldn’t let Zayn take credit for that either.

* * *

 

The issue hadn’t been getting off to Zayn. Young men got off to the most bizarre things. He had not overthought the matter prior to the instant when his hand enclosed around his thick shaft. He refused to feel guilty about how he chose to induce himself into a slumber that Sunday afternoon. 

There was nothing wrong with turning to people you knew and getting off to fantasies featuring them. It was best to keep that information to yourself, of course. They might not find it flattering. Most would probably never find themselves feeling comfortable in the company of someone who admittedly jerked off to them. Even if it had only been that once. 

Harry knew this. The problem was not the act itself or the reasons why he’d done it (he was still avoiding analysing the incident in depth). What irked him most about that day was how he’d allowed himself to be weak for a moment, to succumb. 

He’d closed his eyes and visualized the most filthy imagines his virgin mind could conjure, convinced himself there’d be no consequences to busting his nut to the idea of gagging on Zayn’s cock. And, apparently, even without fucking the boy, he’d gotten himself screwed over. 

Ever since that afternoon in his room, when he’d hissed the other male’s name just before he saw stars, something within him had shifted. And now... well, now nothing felt right. 

He could no longer keep his insides still whenever Liam or Louis spoke Zayn’s name. He discovered he could not converse easily with Liam’s best friend _and_ engage in eye contact the two times they’d crossed paths for five seconds over the course of the following couple of weeks.

It wasn’t nonstop. Some days, Harry barely even allowed Zayn the time of day. But others... certain things would capture his attention and his mind would wonder back to the boy with the caramel skin and dark eyes. 

Most nights he slept profoundly, exhausted from work, which was usually followed by whatever plans Louis had prepared. Others, Harry was haunted with torrid images of a sex life he’d probably never have. 

It was as though he’d open a gate that afternoon, and all the desires inspired by Zayn that he’d suppressed came flooding in. Now his body craved Zayn. Not constantly, but frequently enough that it be a nuisance to him. 

Despite his inner frustrations, he knew better than to speak of the matter with Louis. His best friend always meant well, but Harry could imagine him trying to set the two up, or just making any time spent together awkward as fuck. It was best to just wait it out.

November bled into December in that fashion, Harry overworking himself so that he’d always pass out the moment he returned home. He justified the extra shifts with the need of a higher income and attributed the madness to the upcoming holiday. 

Not all of the excuses he fed his roommate to be pardoned from ‘boy time’ were bullshit. It was, in fact, December. Students were always inclined towards feasting on sugar when exam week rolled in. They made a steady profit at those stressful times, no denial. Plenty locals also had guests, most of which were family. So Harry had a higher number of orders than usual; women attempting to win over their in laws and men failing to deliver when attributed the simple task of dessert. 

It helped matters, how in love Harry was with this particular festive era. It was his favourite. As a child, he’d preferred Easter, because he always scored more treats than Gemma on their annual hunt. These days... Christmas, without doubt. Something about it was simply inspirational and warm. Even though the weather was often harsh. 

Harry’s work reflected his passion towards the holiday season. His hands effortlessly created the most elaborate Christmas cookies and gingerbread houses. He’d even asked his mother to send over a box of old toys, determined to decorate the place thoroughly. 

His package arrived on a Tuesday, December 8th and he’d just about squeaked at the sight of Beatrice, attempting to tear the box from her hands.

“After,” she’d told him instantly, pulling it beyond’s Harry’s reach. He was severely tempted to pout. “You put this together after closing hours. Or in the morning. You can’t just stand there and start causing a mess. Specially with how clumsy you get.” He’d smiled bashfully, agreed nonetheless because at least he knew it would get done. It had taken three more days but he’d finally found someone willing to take the morning shift.

Lauren was a recently transferred student from the States. She had green eyes, just a shade darker than Harry’s, and raven hair cascading along her back. Timid, quiet, she was instantly tucked under Alice’s wing.

The two girls quickly became attached at the hip and, while they were both low-key, Harry couldn’t help but notice that it seemed to be for very different reasons. 

Alice had always been that way. Even among her closest friends, she fell into the background, smiling and offering short, quirky remarks whenever she felt the urge to participate. She was discreet at first, but once you won her over, she opened up and revealed her secret bubbly personality. The brunette was an optimist, care free. The new girl, on the other hand... her lack of socializing seemed to be an issue, not a choice. 

Whenever someone new attempted to commence a conversation or flirt with her (because even Harry could admit, the girl was fit), Lauren tensed, smiled tightly. And relief washed over her as soon as she was left to her own devices. She preferred tasks that did not revolve around team work. In many ways, she was the opposite of Harry, but she was kind enough to accept a trade in working hours. 

He’d thanked her, gifted her with one of his desserts. The outcome had been an unforeseen one, with her smiling shyly at first, and then growing nervous. 

“I, um.” Her eyes had darted along the room aimlessly. He wondered then if she was looking for Alice. “You’re really nice, Harry. But I- I don’t- I’m not-”

Harry had never been more clueless. Which was quite the statement. 

“I’mnotinterested,” she’d finally blurted out when the silence became too much. 

She stood in the heated kitchen with downcast eyes and burning cheeks. Harry could sense something akin to fear rolling off her in waves. He was tempted to glance at her hands, see if they were shaking. He decided against it, only because it seemed somewhat invasive. 

“I like dick.” 

It was an odd statement. A bold one, as well. But he knew it had been the right way to go about it when he was finally met with wide eyes and parted lips. _Speechless_ ; there was a common effect he could have on people. 

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat when the girl said nothing. “Always been my thing. So that’s...” Harry had gestured towards the cupcake covered in a layer of Nutella with a pink butterfly on top. “Just a legit thanks for trading with me. I know you like working with Alice most and you gave it up for me. So thanks.”

It could have all been in his head, but Lauren seemed to grow comfortable around him since then. Harry, for one, was simply relieved that he would be the one to close the bakery the following night instead. 

* * *

 

Having prepared quite the collection of ginger bread houses, Harry had left several batches of simple gingerbread in the oven. It would be a while and given the late hour, most of the students currently lingering had their noses shoved deep into their books. 

A midnight snack would be due at some point, but Harry's calculations hinted that now might be as good as a time as any to get started on those decorations. 

A majority of the toys Anne had sent over were in impeccable condition. Harry had every intention of donating them to charity, or finding them the best second home possible. He’d been taught to preserve his toys since new ones were far from a priority in his household. Anne didn’t necessarily struggle to make ends meet but... 

The one he’d be keeping was the train tracks. It had taken a fair amount of research but Harry successfully put it together with superglue. The next step would have been to suspend it in the center of the bakery. It had to be sufficiently high that most adults would manage to dodge it, but also within the eye sight of a child. It should also be within their reach, should a parent boost them onto their shoulders. 

Building the diversion was far from challenging. It was tedious work for anyone watching, but Harry quite appreciated the distraction. He could work with his hands. Sometimes, much better than he could convince his mind to cooperate with him. 

He’d been engrossed in his assignment, currently adding fairy lights to the outside of the tracks. He’d tuned out his surroundings, the background noises now quieted down as he chewed on the inside of his cheek, already thinking of ways to make use of the remaining of the tracks. 

Occupied with his planning and vision, he’d just about jumped out of his own skin when a heavy hand elected his shoulder to be its resting place.

Ocean green eyes glanced up to be met with steady dark hues. He knew those eyes. _Shit_. He’d glanced down at the fingers sprawled over the curve of his shoulder, but still, the other male had not withdrawn. “Busy?”

If Louis had been the one asking... well, he wouldn’t, is the thing. He would have just claimed a spot next to Harry, and either criticized and then assisted, or simply skipped to lending a helping hand. Zayn, of course, was not much like Louis. 

“Just trying something.” He hadn’t meant to sound so quiet, but the young man’s presence alone seemed to have knocked the air straight out from his lungs. 

As opposed to meeting his gaze as he’d done when caught off guard, Harry was currently looking down at his handiwork, most of his belongings still scattered along the table’s surface. 

“Do you need some help?” 

He should have refused. He had every reason to do so. Maybe if he were just rude towards him a couple of times, then he’d never have to worry about accidentally snogging him. Or pulling something equally pathetic. Instead, he felt himself nod, his fingers still surprisingly steady.

Zayn did not ask for instructions or guidance. Harry thought, perhaps, he watched him for a while before deciding to mimic what the baker was doing. 

For several moments, that’s all they did: find a rhythm. Eventually, they did. They became so in sync, Harry was convinced their chests rose and fell accordingly. It was... nice. Different. 

He was loud with Louis, even when they weren’t. Silence did not last between the duo. Zayn’s company was not... boring. He was not dull in comparison. He was... strong, his entire being demanding to be noticed even when he was simply sitting beside Harry, hands working at the same pace and with the same motions as the first’s. 

It was odd because no one could ever seem to figure out which speed Harry was going at. He spoke too slowly and moved too fast, his breathing was often off tempo, varying to the circumstance. That Zayn had somehow taken the time to learn... that he could fall into Harry’s pattern within seconds... that was-

“Mind if I ask you a question?” Zayn asked, pulling Harry from the depths of his mind and interrupting his internal freak out. Again, he nodded. Hopefully, Zayn would assume his silence was due to his current hobby. “Why aren’t you in university?”

It was unavoidable, that the topic rise in time, that it freeze his insides and send a chill running down his spine. It wasn’t frequently asked but, whenever it was, it sent Harry into overdrive because it was a reminder of his predicament, of all he had yet to do. 

It helped that Zayn had not come across as judgemental or disappointed. Nor did he make it sound as though the idea of Harry attending college was merely humorous, as some individuals back home had done. 

Sirens should have gone off, he should have recalled why it was he had kept his distance. Zayn had taken an interest, something not many before him had done. And those who had, lost it quickly once they realized how high maintenance Harry could be, how many quirks he truly had. Perhaps that was why he found himself replying with honesty. Because he had not foreseen interest, he had not predicted and planned. He had no plan A, never mind a plan B.

“Funding is the short answer, I guess,” he finally stated slowly. Even by his standards. “I mean, we’re not... poor.” They just struggled. A bit. Sometimes. Or had, before the bakery. “My mum works. And it’s just us. Gemma - that’s my sister -, she found out her soulmate’s this rockstar and just... kind of up and went with her. On tour,” he clarified, drawing a stripe of glue before pressing the fairy lights to it and holding. 

When Zayn said nothing, he wondered if maybe he’d lost track again, gone off course and failed to provide an answer to the actual question. Even if he was convinced he’d been cautious to do so at the beginning of his response. 

“So... you can’t afford college?”

“I can. Technically,” Harry said, brows furrowed together as he checked the first half of the tracks, ensured the fairy lights were secured. 

“Then funding isn’t a plausible reason.”

Silence followed. At long last, Zayn had found the words that would trigger Harry to turn his head in his direction. “I said technically.” He didn’t sound irritated. He wished he had. 

Zayn pondered on his latest response for a short while. “What does _technically_ mean?”

“I have enough to go to college, but if I wait until next September, I’ll have a few more to spare. Mum can live comfortably then.” He’d been saying as much for as long as he could remember. Next year, next semester, next something. But ever since the transfer, Harry’d been making more money and, sharing a rent free apartment with Louis certainly helped matters.

“So next September?” Zayn asked, arching an eyebrow. “It’s a done deal?”

Had he known better, he would not have allowed the pause that followed. Because it left the man sitting beside him with the impression that no, September was not a done deal. 

For all his faults, the young man was certainly not a liar. Not a good one. So he found himself shrugging. “We’ll see,” he said instead, eyes already zooming in on the trains. Zayn seemed to take his lead and dropped the topic. For now at least. 

* * *

 

The forty eight hours following his short lived episode with Zayn were torturous. At the time, it had been easy to overlook the older male’s intentions. The baker had been wrapped up in his presence, fighting urges he was unfamiliar with and doing his best to not come across as odd. More so than usual. Since then however, he’d had time - too much of it, in fact - to think it over.

Repeatedly, he played the time they spent together in his mind. It was so fucking strange, for someone who barely knew you to just take a seat and help him out; seemingly, without any ulterior motives.

One might argue that said stranger had been in his home, driven his mother’s car, cooked in his kitchen, assisted him in a time of distress. Most individuals would also point out that Zayn was Liam’s best friend. And, if Liam was not yet Louis’ boyfriend, he was well on his way to earning such a title. 

All of that which had occured that fateful day, late November was just bizarre. Randomly meeting two boys who had, somehow, just penetrated Harry and Louis’ routine. Not that the latter would be complaining. Hell, Harry hardly had much reason to either. 

Liam was nice. He always ensured he brought enough food if he decided on takeout. If he stole Louis away for too long, he rewarded Harry with dessert. Or a gift that was unique and _reminded him of Harry._

Not unlike Zayn, Liam could be quiet. But he was... lighter. He laughed frequently and often made Harry burst out loud in laughter, in a way even Louis couldn’t always succeed to do.

 _He’s a good lad_ , Louis had told him. He was obliged to agree.

Whereas Liam was nice and forthcoming, Zayn was polite, but still a closed book. He was a riddle; a complex one at that. Harry wanted to try and pull him apart, make sense of him, what he was made of. But he equally wanted to push him aside, feign disinterest and continue his life as he’d always done. 

The major difference between the two boys was that Liam was easy. He was friendly and safe. Zayn was the embodiment of temptation. Harry had had his share of embarrassing crushes in school and no desire for a repeat. For all he knew, Zayn was as dedicated to finding his soulmate as Harry was to finding his own. 

Or maybe he was just into girls.

Louis, God bless him, shot down all of Harry’s musings the minute he arrived home on Saturday, just after lunch. He only had a couple of more days of uni left and then he’d be returning to Doncaster. It appeared, having successfully passed (though barely, with certain subjects) all his classes, Louis had every intention of celebrating. 

“I need to get pissed,” he announced as soon as Harry walked past their front door. “Like properly sloshed.” 

He couldn’t help but lift one of his eyebrows, even if his mouth was twitching. “Liam alright with that?”

“Of course!” He seemed proud, as though he had anticipated Harry’s response and planned accordingly. “He’s coming with.”

“I’m not playing third wheel.”

Louis’ demeanor oozed further of satisfaction. “Niall’s coming too.” That usually meant trouble.

Niall Horan was the walking form of every Irish stereotype there ever was. He was loud, he was fun and he could drink as though his life depended on it without blacking out. He also sang. Louder than he spoke. Sometimes in key but, when drunk, certainly not. 

The Irish boy enjoyed potatoes and complained often of the lack of them. But he was welcoming, could convince anyone to become his friend within the first five minutes of a conversation. He could chat your ear off but, more often than not, you missed the sound his mouth going off when he went temporarily quiet. 

Harry was not necessarily one to excuse himself of a night out. It had been a while. He was physically exhausted but the idea of the former threesome heading out... it was tempting. 

At the beginning of the semester, it seemed the trio spent more time in clubs than they did at their own homes. It had been a learning experience for Harry. 

Small towns didn’t hold many parties. And, when they did, it was spoken about for months. Anything that went down was gossip material. Here, he went unnoticed. It was a good change. 

As time progressed and the two boys grew occupied with preparations for exams, Harry allowed himself to focus on his work. If he had to guess, he’d say the last time they’d gone out had been Halloween. Of course, Louis meeting Liam may have played its roll on the matter. 

Despite his initial exhaustion, the twenty one year old couldn’t help but experience a hint of excitement. In the haze of alcohol and deafening music, he should succeed at forgetting about Zayn. 

“Alright.”

Louis’ face was torn by a large grin as he threw an arm around Harry’s shoulder, pulling him into his side. “That’s a good lad.” His lips smacked into his temple, a wet sound following when he drew back. “Now go nap.” His palm tapped Harry’s collarbone twice before releasing him entirely from his gasp. “I want you energized later.”

He wrinkled his nose. “That sounded so wrong.”

His roommate released what had to be the most rehearsed surprise sound ever. “Lewd!”

Halfway out the living room, Harry paused. “Did Liam give you a dictionary?”

“You saying I don’t know posh words, Styles?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

There was a distressed sound on Louis’ end. Most likely a poor attempt to sound hurt. “Zayn, actually. I said something to Liam the other day and he called me lewd.” A shrug followed. “Figure it works in this context.”

“Idiot,” Harry mumbled, glad to be out of sight so Louis couldn’t take notice of how his jaw had tightened and his muscles at the mention of Zayn. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I promised a longer chapter last time, but staying true to my deadline somehow earned priority.  
> I don't know how long before I come around to releasing chapter four, as I haven't begun it just yet. I'll be playing around with a couple of ideas to figure out how I want that outing for the boys to go but I don't think it'll take me more than a week.  
> I'm totally open to suggestions so message me [HERE](http://adriannaspromo.tumblr.com/ask).  
> I hope you all have a nice week.


	4. I didn't ask, mate.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three words: boys night out. Too much tequila, too many people, too much drama.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't have any **TRIGGERS** then you can skip this part, as it may contain spoilers. But I'd rather give some of it away than have a reader suffer a panic attack.
> 
> There's a brief episode in this chapter where a male attempts to physically overpower a female character. It's not... hardcore and it certainly isn't anything within the range of sexual assault. It's mostly him attempting to take advantage of the fact that she's intimidated and he's larger. There is a scene with some violence (along the lines of say a bar fight), but I did my best to keep gore descriptions to a minimum. For now at least.  
> Islamophobia and racism are briefly addressed in one of Harry's monologues.

It may not have applied to most people, but Harry loved the moments leading to a night out. Almost as much as he enjoyed himself while out. It was odd, but the atmosphere simply shifted with the unspoken promise that something extraordinary might just happen. For most, it would be stumbling upon their soulmate. Somehow, it wasn’t that which came to mind for the curly man. 

He thought of adventures and inside jokes, drunken friends sitting at a table in some dinner having a late bite (or early breakfast, depending on how you looked at it). While he had spent a majority of his life waiting for the person responsible for his pain tolerance, Harry had learned to enjoy the company of his mates. 

Sadly, he had not had many of those back home. _Cute_ was not the trait that inspired friendship among those of his own gender. Girls could be equally ruthless. 

Louis had been among the first exceptions. Only when the pair met did the brunet truly comprehend the weight of the word **friendship**. Prior to his current roommate, it appeared he had merely experienced ‘friendly acquaintances’; people who were too kind to mock him, who tolerated him and his strangeness but never learned to accept him, or care for him. 

Niall had followed. But Niall was generally accepting, his good nature ensuring you couldn’t help but love him almost instantly.  

Standing in front of the full sized mirror in his room, Harry couldn’t help but smile. It had been some time since their last outing, which probably only added to the build up, but he was buzzing with excitement. 

Hard knocks to their front door caused him to jump in place, the smile on his lips growing into a larger version of itself. There was only a couple of people who would threaten to bang the door down on a daily basis, and one of them was in the other bedroom. 

Therefore, he didn’t feel the need to peep before opening the door. “Hazza!” Barely given the appropriate reaction time, Harry was soon surrounded by smaller limbs, the body pressed to his a little warmer than it outta be. 

“Started without us, Nialler?” 

Glancing over his shoulder, Harry found Louis standing in the hallway, still frowning at Niall, waiting for a reply. 

The Irish man snorted, his arms hanging from Harry’s shoulders. “You have shit tolerance.” 

In comparison. _But you’re Irish_ , Harry wanted to point out. Instead, he continued to smile down at his friend, who grinned back, flashing all his teeth.

“How come Harry gets all the love?” Louis complained, crossing his arms to emphasise his displeasure. 

His display, of course, was merely met with Niall tightening his hold on Harry. “Haz is prettier. Look at his fuckin’ face.” Repeatedly, his index poked at where dimples often surfaced. 

“Whatever, you tosser. I need to find me shoe.” His accent was slipping, as it often did in Niall’s presence. 

Only then did Harry notice that, in fact, Louis was semi barefoot. The sight demanded a chuckle on his end, followed by a snort. Niall was, obviously, eyeing his outfit, most of his chest bared, jeans tight.

“Did your mum never teach you to do your buttons, Haz?”

“You like me bared,” he replied with a simple shrug. 

A timid knock was given to the already open door, Liam standing just an inch from the doorway, but not walking past it. 

Niall’s eyebrows rose, his gaze leaving the new arrival to look at Harry before his confusion was overpowered by his smile. His arms slid from the other’s shoulders, his body turning to fully face Liam. 

“You must be the lad that has our Louis by the balls.” He was just about circling the poor boy, who looked somewhat uncomfortable under piercing blue eyes. “About damn time!” One arm was swung around the additional member, pulling him into his side. “I wanna make a toast to this man,” he told Harry.

“He’s Irish,” the green eyed boy informed the newcomer, as though this was a plausible excuse for his friend’s behaviour. 

“That I am.” The blond radiated of pride, smile so big he had all his perfect teeth on display. 

Heavy footsteps announced Louis long before he spoke. “I can’t find my other God damn-” All of his motions came to a sudden halt, studying the image of Niall and Liam, side by side, connected by the first enveloping his arm around the latter. “Niall, get off him.”

“You better hope possessiveness is a turn on for him, Louis.” He transferred his affections back to Harry. 

It took four males, eight set of eyes and another half an hour but they eventually did find the second shoe. Or Niall did, in the depths of Louis’ closet, behind a box filled of kinky items. He’d instantly fallen to his back, laughing so hard Harry swore the hardwood floor was trembling beneath his feet. 

Louis had appeared to be a mixture of murderous as well as flustered, and when Harry turned to glance at Liam, expecting embarrassment, all he’d found was the look of a man who was suddenly very hungry for something only Louis could give him.

Despite the minor setback, the trio-turned-quartet found themselves in an Irish pub soon after. Niall had become engrossed in conversation with Liam, explaining how certain things were done back home. He pointed out the differences between certain drinks and even gave him a crash course on some Irish slang. Overall, it appeared the blond had quickly learned to like Louis’ new beau. And then proceeded to engage in a flirtatious chat with a leggy blonde.

“Is he always like this?” Liam had asked the two roommates, whilst the three sat at a table, observing the exchange between Niall and the giggling woman.

“Always,” they echoed, but they both seemed fond. 

As it was, the female in question proved to be married. That had not prevented her from being cornered by the younger male. She’d allowed him to snog the life out of her, only informing him of the fact later. It had been decided, between all, that it was best they fuck off before her spouse return. They escaped the fatal confrontation. Just barely. 

By the time they finally arrived at the club of their choice, Harry’s heart was beating a little faster than it should. He was still worried over what could have been, had the husband decided to make an example of Niall. The other two, having had their fair share of beers, only saw the humour to it, as Niall pouted and complained about his deadly attraction to unavailable women. 

“Stop yeh weepin’,” Louis told him impatiently as they waited in line. “You get laid the most out of the three of us.”

Niall couldn’t help but snort, his cheeks more colourful than they usually were. “Harry doesn’t count.”

“Why not?” Liam questioned, prompting the first awkward silence of the evening. 

Louis and Niall shared a knowing look, and when they decided to consult Harry, the baker was already hushing words into the bouncer’s ear. The man then allowed them access to the club, a small smile growing on his otherwise serious features. It had been enough to distract the boys from the previous topic.

The focus was no longer on Harry’s sex life - or lack therefore of -, but on the bass resonating in their ears, making their surroundings tremble slightly. He’d briefly caught sight of Lauren, surrounded by four other girls. He’d waved timidly, was met by an equally reserved smile before one of her friends pulled her away by the hand.

Showered in blue neon lights, the curly boy couldn’t help but compare the effect to rain. Or a meteor shower. “Fucking amazing,” one of the males beside him said loudly, voicing Harry’s sentiment as _Breathe_ by Seeb reached its instrumental peak.

“Bar, lads,” Niall announced. Or demanded. It was hard to tell the difference. 

Unsurprisingly, the next several minutes were spent exactly where the blond had led them. Drinks were consistently served, sometimes entirely new ones replacing the former. Mixing was never a good idea, but Niall didn’t even appear to be buzzed.

Louis had done what he often did: attempted to compete. And epically failed at it. Seven rounds later and his hand had seized Liam’s wrist, dragging the poor boy to the dance floor. It didn’t seem as though Liam dreaded it, but everyone knew he didn’t have a say. Once Louis set his mind on something… 

While his roommate continued to present them with quite the obscene show, Harry was left to drink alongside Niall. Or feed the illusion of such. Truthfully, he was merely trading his filled glasses with Niall’s empty ones whenever the other’s gaze lingered on a fit bird five seconds too long. 

“How is it that Louis’ is getting all the action tonight?” Niall questioned, elbows resting on the counter. 

Green eyes followed Niall’s gaze. He was watching Louis grind up against the other male, seemingly intrigued. Nothing they hadn’t seen a thousand times before. The desperation, the smiles Louis conjured for Liam however… those were novelty. 

“You got the girl at the pub,” Harry pointed out. 

He was finally met with blue eyes, a smirk creeping onto Niall’s lips. “Didnt seal the deal, did I?” When Harry shrugged, he was offered laughter, Niall’s smaller hand pressing to his shoulder. “Don’t know how you do it, mate.”

Tension worked its way back into his body as it had while they’d been in line. “Can’t miss something you never had, can you?”

“Not convincing anyone. I was a virgin once. Given, it was _ages_ ago.” Harry couldn’t help but snort, Niall’s smile now more assured. “But I know you’re like everyone else. Still want it. You just want something else more.” 

Sometimes he forgot, that Niall had no soulmate to wait for, that perhaps Harry’s lifestyle truly made no sense to him. Hell, Louis had a soulmate and often didn’t understand his resolve. 

He wondered then, as he held Niall’s gaze for several moments, if Niall ever mourned that simple fact: that in a world of soulmates, he had none. He belonged to the 4,7% of the world population who was born unbound. Maybe he felt relieved, free. 

Their conversation had been mostly spoken in louder tones. They would not be able to ear each other over the sound of the music otherwise. When Niall chose to lean in, lips close to his ear, Harry knew to listen. “Sorry about the slip up. In the line.”

Turning his head slightly, he was greeted with apologetic eyes. So he smiled, hopefully transmitting assurance. His own mouth itched closer towards the other’s ear, his hand squeezing his friend’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Nialler. No big deal.”

Liam’s stay in their life could very well become permanent. Even if it was merely extended for another handful of months and not forever, Harry knew that inevitably he’d find out. Whether it happened tonight due to Niall’s slip up, or three months later in their flat… it would happen.

Harry wasn’t ashamed of his choice. He was somewhat ashamed of his severe trust issues, he was embarrassed by his lack of coordination and grace. Those were all things beyond his control. Opting not to make himself vulnerable… that had been his decision. One he had not yet brought himself to regret. Even when he felt the deep sting of loneliness. 

“Hot, inn she?” Niall’s words were finally beginning to slur, a couple of hours later. 

The four boys had moved since, from the bar and dance floor to one of the booths at the side of the club. As opposed to walls, the West side was covered in sliding doors, allowing smokers easy access to the balcony. It was cooler, fresh breezes dancing around the group anytime someone entered or exited. 

Louis and Liam went back and forth, between their seat and the dance floor. Niall only gave up the comfort of his place when he needed a refill. Which was quite often. Right then, though, it seemed he may have encountered a second reason to stand. 

“Suppose she is,” Harry agreed, looking at the blond girl with brown eyes, tanned skin and toned legs. “Go say hello,” he added, laughing louder than he usually would. He blamed the beer.

“Can’t leave yeh to fend for yourself.”

Rolling his eyes, his hands pushed the smaller body, almost falling over in the process. He decided then that the time may have come to switch to water. 

 In Niall’s absence, Harry could do what he did best: people watch. It had begun as a hobby, something he’d done as a last resort to entertain himself. With a lack of friends, he was often left with books and Nintendo for companions instead. When he bored of the first or the batteries for his game died, he had to do something other than throw a pity party for himself. 

Later in life, it proved a useful skill. Harry knew, when people liked him, when they pretended. He knew when a smile was genuine - even it was the smallest of smiles - and when it was simply polite. He could recognize symptoms of fear and could easily differentiate them from insecurity. He also knew exactly what a combination of the two looked like, often having harboured such a sentiment during his youth. 

So he had watched, nursing his drink, making it last. He already knew he’d tell Niall this was his third when he returned. If he did, in fact return because Harry was familiar with the look the blonde was giving his friend. Niall would soon be - in his own words - sealing the deal. Be it in the bathroom stalls or in his own room. 

Harry did not participate in random hook ups. Or better yet, he kissed strangers - particularly on nights when he felt uncommonly alone -, but that was the extent of it. While he did not allow inappropriate groping and refused to acquaint himself with meaningless sex, he was not above hitting the dance floor with a handsome bloke or pretty girl. 

He found himself doing just that, once he grew bored of analysing his surroundings. He danced with a couple of older men, a shy girl who pleaded with him so her friends would get off her case. He even danced with a younger looking fella before deciding he needed some air. 

His asthma was dormant but Harry knew better than to push his own luck. Whenever he felt his chest tighten or his lungs burn, he forced himself to slow down. 

Walking past the sliding doors, he signalled Louis as he sat down with Liam, so they’d know where to find him. Louis was still vibrating with energy, radiating of joy as he often did when intoxicated. 

December translated to cold. As such, it was unsurprising that he was struck by chilled air once outside. He had been counting on it, needed it even. Harry inhaled deeply, savouring the fresh air, free of smoke or fragrance. 

So desperate for the refreshed atmosphere, he hadn’t realized he’d barely moved past the doors, blocking someone else’s path. 

He startled when a body pushed into his own, was surprised to find himself looking into familiar green eyes when he turned his body around to face the other person. “Lauren?” Her wide eyes grew smaller, panic now replaced with… something less pressing.

Her tongue ran along her lips. “Hello, Harry.” She sounded quiet, _too_ quiet. Maybe the loud music had left him temporarily deaf. 

Awkward silence followed. He’d spoken to her once. Well, at work they often exchanged orders, but he wasn’t taking that into account. Most people would have settled for peace and quiet. Harry, of course, had never thrived with lack of conversation. 

“Needed some fresh air?” he questioned, to which she nodded rapidly. “Gets blurry after a while, doesn’t it?” 

The dark haired female looked up, properly facing him with an inquisitive expression on her features. Harry didn’t keep track of how long he simply blinked back at her while she studied him. But she must have found what she was searching for because she smiled tightly. 

Rather than provide him with an answer, his co-worker glanced towards the booth where Liam and Louis were necking. They were easily seen through the glass. “Is he breaking your heart?” 

Brows furrowed together, confusion tainting his face. “What?”

Again her eyes widened and he quickly regretted his reaction, though he failed to fault what it was he’d done wrong, why she seemed so… agitated suddenly. 

“I didn’t mean to pry,” Lauren told him quickly. “I, um, I thought… You have friends in common so, er, so you can’t… be honest? Not that I- I’m not saying you’re a liar. I just… If you wanted to talk… I figured I could ask and- I’m sorry,” she finally concluded, wincing. 

If Harry had previously been confused, the girl’s incoherent speech did nothing to alter his current feeling of misunderstanding. He could make sense that there was a general assumption regarding Louis and him but he didn’t think himself to be intimidating yet… Lauren seemed genuinely scared of him. As though he’d scream or… do worse, simply because she had asked a personal question. 

“He’s not breaking my heart.” Harry didn’t know what else to say to make her understand he wasn’t… angry? He took a step back, just in case, so she’d know he had no intentions of invading her personal space. Physically or verbally. 

“ ‘s not like that,” the young man spoke again, when she made no move to respond. “We’re friends. I want him to be happy. He’s my family.”

Slowly, he watched as the girl nodded. “Haven’t met my soulmate yet,” Harry told her frankly, hoping that if he spoke about something considerably personal she’d know it was permitted that she ask. “Have you?” 

There was something dull in her eyes when she met Harry’s gaze next. It was hard to pinpoint, but it made his chest ache. “Yeah,” she breathed weakly.

It had been the first time Harry had been met with an affirmative response and yet, the person answering the popular question, seemed completely deflated. His mind was plagued with questions, the type Louis would probably smack him across the head for asking so he restrained himself. 

Not all soulmates worked out, he knew this. They were supposed to be endgame, but sometimes they fell apart so things could fall back into place. He wanted to reassure the shaken girl but, somehow, he felt she would not believe him. 

Since the conversation with Louis, Harry had contemplated that maybe, sometimes, people didn’t wind up with their soulmates. So promising her that outcome might be have been a lie. And Harry was not a liar.

“It’ll be alright,” he reassured her instead, attempting his best smile. “Whether you find them or not, it’ll be alright.” That was something he believed in. 

Lauren must have decided his conviction was palpable because she too smiled, better than last time. He’d like to believe, in time, they’d be friends, that she’d grow to trust him rather than fear him. 

Odd, how someone so unwilling to trust blindly needed others to do so with him. Harry knew it was almost hypocritical of him, how he went around, earning people’s trust, never truly returning the favour. But he usually followed through, proved to be an excellent friend. In the past, those he’d trusted had used that trust to humiliate him. Not something he wanted to relive. 

The tall baker stood in the cold with the girl for almost fifteen minutes. Their conversation was not nearly as intimate then. They spoke of work, university. Lauren complimented his Christmas decorations and some of his culinary creations, she told him of some of her hobbies. Nothing deep was shared, but he felt it was a bonding activity: the mindless chattering. 

Her smiles grew more… sure. Whichever doubt her gaze had once carried had slowly vaporized. He’d even stolen a breathless chuckle from her lungs on occasion. 

In the mist of their talking, Harry had noted that Liam remained seated in the booth, accompanied by someone who was not Louis - not judging by his hair because, after all, they were seated with their back facing him. His eyes scanned the rest of the club while Lauren compared certain brands from the States to those in the UK, but his vision was limited.  

Lips parted, ready to inform the young cashier than he would be returning inside, when the doors slid open, a large male towering over her.

“Lauren,” he sang, lips curling.

Something about him was… cold. “Who’s this?” His tone was harsh when looking down at Harry. 

There was a glint in his eye that made him uncomfortable, but Harry only stood taller in the face of the challenge, eyebrows lifting. He did not reply. Nor did Lauren, who had shrunk in size. 

“Inside.” It was not, by any means, a request. On the off chance that Lauren may have interpreted it as such, the unfamiliar man seized her elbow and she winced a second time that evening. 

Something boiled beneath Harry’s skin, temperature suddenly rising from the inside. He felt his hands curls into fists by his sides, counted to five, told himself to calm down. He was a lover, not a fighter. 

Unless the situation called for it. 

“Lauren.” Harry’s voice was uncommonly steady, quiet but it must have rung volumes because she instantly looked at him. Her eyes were so big he was assaulted with the impulse to embrace her, shelter her. “You don’t have to go inside.”

Everything stilled for a heartbeat or two. A needle could have dropped between the three and Harry knew he’d heard it. Even over the music.

 The man then pulled her with such force, her body just about collided into his side. His touch had to be bruising. Harry made himself not look.

“Mind your own business, kid. If you know what’s good for you.”

That was the thing, wasn’t it? Harry had no sense of self-preservation. And he proved as much by throwing his fist at the guy, triggering him to fall back into the glass wall.

Lauren had been released from his deadly grip as a result, stumbled back until her hand seized the railing for support. Harry had not been under the illusion that there would not be retaliation. All men thought he was height and not much else. They underestimated him and Harry… he used it to his advantage. But he’d thrown the first punch for once, so he knew this tall, muscular male was going to come back at him

Like clockwork, he had. Harry had blocked the first couple of attempts, earning himself a sharp pain in his cheek when he failed for the first time. 

Harry had not lost his balance but, apparently, this unfamiliar man seemed to think a glimpse of pain was all it would take for the young boy to back off.

##                                       Wrong. 

Just as he’d reached for Lauren, Harry had seized him by the back of his shirt. “Keep your slimy hands off her!” He turned the larger body until their fronts were pressed together, his opponent’s back slammed into solid glass. “Leave her alone,” he groaned and then pushed to create some distance between the two.

It was then, as he exhaled audibly that he caught sight of his own reflection. He was worked up, aggressive, so fucking angry. Once upon a time he’d done boxing for the sake of doing it. He’d never been very convincing because he lacked the right expression. Looking at himself in that moment, he finally understood what his former coach had been looking for. 

The issue was, it had been the worst time for him to have such an appearance. Lauren had always been withdrawn, always borderline terrified, specially tonight. With his most recent display, it was quite plausible that he’d made it worse tenfold. 

He knew better than to approach her, but he looked back at her, features turned blank as he sobered up. She was shaking, even the hand clinging to the railing. Damn it!

“Listen here, you son of a bitch.”

He’d turned in time to note that the figure was closing in on him. Harry would have no choice but to fight back until security came along and tore them apart. At which point, Lauren would probably hate him, quit her job.

The anticipated attack never came and, when Harry gathered his wits next, the unnamed male had been tossed past the sliding doors. Beside him, Zayn stood bigger than he’d ever seen him, shoulders appearing much broader than he recalled. 

##                  “Don’t fucking touch him.”

Never had Harry heard someone speak so quietly, yet chill him to the bone. His blood turned cold, the hiss in Zayn’s voice resembling icicles in the way they ruthlessly pierced into one’s eardrums. 

His jaw was clenched, cheekbones protruding. There was something fierce about him, his anger controlled rather than rabid as Harry had seen himself. It seemed Zayn’s brand of aggression was more intimidating than Harry’s. Or maybe it was the combination of the two. But the guy finally stilled, sending murderous daggers at Lauren then at the two boys. He mumbled incoherently under his breath and left without adding anything else to the conversation. 

It had been instinct, to ogle at Zayn, who was slowly releasing air from his flaring nostrils. He’d not even been there… it was as though he’d been conjured out of thin air. And he couldn’t look away, even when there was a voice in the back of his mind screaming for him to do so. Because he’d be a freak if he looked for longer than was socially acceptable. 

Of course, his body refused to cooperate so, instead, he was soon met with chocolate eyes, wider than usual but no rival to Harry’s alarmed hues. 

So fucking gorgeous. It should not be possible for any man on this Earth to be so God damn pretty. Harry had spent a majority of their time spent apart intentionally avoiding him, forcibly making himself **_not_** think about him. Now he felt unprepared, as though his memories of Zayn had blurred, been pushed to the back of his mind, only for him to be smacked in the face with reality.

And reality was that this man was not human. No one could be a mere mortal and be so… perfect. It was frightening, to look at him and be so aware of the reaction his presence stirred within his body. 

Harry had to make himself focus, nonetheless. Even when it pained him to do so, his eyes abandoned the sight of Zayn to find Lauren. He didn’t know if Liam’s friend knew the girl had been the source of it all, that she was probably scared to death and they’d made it worse in their attempts to help.

Movement followed beside him and he’d seized Zayn’s arm like a reflex, only after marvelling in the warmth he felt. He said nothing, didn’t have to because the other man halted. 

A shift in his demeanour was called for. He had to make himself still, had to straighten his posture. “Lauren.” She was blinking rapidly at him, eyes fanatic, aimlessly darting along her surroundings. “Lauren, I’m not gonna hurt you,” he promised, held up both hands. “I can get one of your friends. You came with some girls, right?” The longer he spoke, the more her tremors subsided so he kept stringing sentences together. “Think you can gimme a name?” 

Tentatively, he took a step forward. When his colleague failed to tense or respond, he took another. “Hey, Lauren.” She focused. Or tried to. At the very least, her gaze had finally settled on Harry, and Harry alone. “It’s just me, yeah? The baby giraffe learning how to walk.” He knew Jasper often referred to him as such. If nothing else, the corner of her mouth twitched. 

“Didn’t look like that person a second ago,” she murmured, but it was not malicious.

He smiled and was satisfied to find her mirroring him. “I’m a lover, not a fighter,” he finally said aloud, after repeating it to himself a handful of times. “But I know how to fight back. No shame in that.”

The young man from Redditch waited, watched as her eyes looked over his shoulder. Zayn. Right. “Don’t worry about him. He’s a friend.” Liam’s friend, but all the same in that one moment detached from conventional reality. Lauren nodded. “Someone we can call? Do you wanna crash at our place?”

Teeth scraped over her bottom lip, eyes suddenly larger and she was looking into the club, probably searching for her friends. 

“We can drop you off,” he offered as an alternative. “But you don’t have to be alone tonight. Louis and I don’t swing that way, remember? So, like, no funky business.”

Unexpectedly, she produced another one of her gasped chuckles. “Beatrice was right,” she stated, her claims staining Harry’s face with confusion once more. “You- You really are… something else.” 

He felt himself frown, opening his mouth to form a defense of sorts, even when he had no idea what he was defending himself from. Lauren, of course, seemed to understand his misconception and quickly added: “It’s a good thing. You’re… nice. Kind.”

Quite randomly, he looked to Zayn, as though he might help him understand but, as per usual, Zayn was unreadable. He was simply looking at Harry, his features rehearsed, poised. It was unbelievable, how collected he was, given the circumstances. 

“Harry?” He’d shifted his attention towards the girl once more. “Can you find Normani? I- I don’t think.. She wasn’t drinking. When I came out. She… she’ll take me home. Is that… alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Whatever you want.” There was already a swing in his step, as though he could easily rush in and out, offer Lauren a familiar, trusting face. He stopped, however. “I just realised…” he smiled sheepishly. “Dunno what Normani looks like.” 

Despite her jitters, the pale female tried for a smile, her unsteady hand reaching into her pocket for her mobile. Harry felt himself growing nervous, just watching her fingers fail to insert the correct pattern across the screen due to their trembles. 

Unexpectedly, Zayn took a step towards Harry, his fingers touching him lightly by the ribs. “I’ll find Normani,” he stated just as Lauren turned her phone to show them her friend. “Stay here.” _In case that jackass comes back_ , his eyes seemed to say, even when his lips had stilled. 

A nod was all he thought to give back, feeling Zayn’s hand slide down his side slightly before he left in pursuit of the other female. 

* * *

 

The new twenty one pilots song for the Suicide Squad soundtrack was drumming throughout his apartment. It wasn’t usually the kind of music Harry would be inclined to listen to, but it was favourable to the deafening silence. Or the maddening piercing sound he often experienced post-clubbing. 

Having reunited the two girls, Lauren and Normani, Harry somehow found himself drowning one shot of tequila after the other. Louis and Niall had joined him, neither making any reference to the bruises and cuts to his face. Maybe they went unnoticed in the dark. 

Zayn had given him a pointed look, however, after his forth shot and he’d known… it was time to call it a night. So he nodded, watched as Zayn leaned into Liam, spoke into his ear and then Liam was looking at Harry. 

It never struck him as odd, that he comprehended Zayn’s looks, but could not understand Liam’s. It was unimportant. All that mattered was that Harry would be home soon and in bed. 

He’d been so very wrong. Instead of his alluring bed, Harry was sitting in his cold kitchen, Zayn standing between his legs with a first aid kit open on the island. Several of its contents had been sprawled over the flat surface. 

“You like comics,” Harry said softly at some point, his eyes lingering on his _**ZAP!**_ tattoo. 

The fingers holding his chin tightened, brown eyes moving from his cut to meet Harry’s eyes. He resumed his former course of action as though he’d never been startled to begin with. 

“Yeah…” he was hesitant. Like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop… and that made no sense, but far from Harry to call anyone out on being weird. 

For a while all Harry could register was the sound of the music, which was oddly entrancing. He didn’t want to focus on the sting he felt each time Zayn tried disinfecting the deeper cut below his cheekbone. 

“Must have been wearing a ring,” he offered as an explanation when the older male stared a couple of seconds too long. 

“Didn’t pin you for someone who…” 

“-knows how to throw a punch?” Harry prompted and he giggled. He was definitely going to regret that sound come morning.

Zayn’s lips curled slightly and, for the first time since they met, he’d been permitted a glimpse as to what a smile might look like on him. “Didn’t you tell that girl that you’re not a fighter?”

Initially, he’d hummed but then Zayn was cleaning his gush and talking was a welcomed distraction. “Lauren is…” It wasn’t his place to say. For one, Harry had only just persuaded her to be somewhat comfortable around him. But he felt he had no right to gush over her traits. “I knew she’d go. If I didn’t confront the douchebag, she would have been too scared and gone inside with him. Just wanted her to be safe.”

He shrugged lamely and, maybe alcohol was slowing everything down, but he swore Zayn had stilled for a fraction of a second before the sting was back, making his jaw tighten. 

“You friends?”

“Recently started working at the bakery. Doesn’t talk much. Like you.” If he were sober, maybe he wouldn’t have said that last part. “Really nice though. Just… shy.” Scared, more like, but Harry didn’t think she’d appreciate him telling a stranger as much. 

Zayn reached for the tweezers, plucking out little strings of wool that found their way into his wound when Harry nuzzled into his sweater. He gritted his teeth, cursing himself for having a susceptibility for cuddling into anything with a mildly soft appearance. 

Harry had to give it to him though, Zayn was efficient. And relatively quick. Louis would have poked his eye out by now. “Do you often take a punch for your co-workers?” he inquired. 

A frown descended upon Harry’s features, his eyes traveling along the other man’s features. “Not all of them. Not if I can fix it with talk. That guy didn’t know the first thing about being civil. Sometimes you got to speak their language.”

“Their?”

“Bullies.” Only after he said it, did it occur to him how juvenile that sounded. Bullies were reserved for school. In adulthood, they were called **abusers**. 

Zayn snorted and, somehow, Harry felt bitter about being on the receiving end of it. “What do you know about bullies?”

 _What’s that supposed to mean?_ he’d wanted to ask but something about Liam’s friend’s pose had shifted entirely. He was defensive, eyes darker and not in a good way. Snapping back at him would only spiral into something ugly. Harry didn’t want that. So he did what he hardly ever did: exposed himself instead.

“Look at me.” Another lame shrug was given, the unfamiliarity of the situation making him uncomfortable. He felt small quite abruptly and the sentiment was unwelcomed, but alcohol made it easier to push past the discomfort. 

Unexpectedly, Zayn’s eyes rose and he appeared to be looking, searching for what it was exactly Harry was showing him. “Imagine all of this” his left hand circled in front of his face as though he were pointing towards it “but add in some baby fat and subtract the height.” 

There had been a moment when something… raw had washed over the face looking back at him and then Zayn caught himself, did what he did best: put his features back in place until he let nothing show. 

“Kids give you a hard time in school then?”

“Said I was too pretty, girly,” he recalled, almost grimacing at the memories that suddenly came flooding back. It had been so long since he’d last thought of it. “The curls didn’t help, I guess but like… My mom says I’ve always been me. Even when I had to pay for it. I couldn’t be anyone else because even when I tried, I tried too hard, stuck out like a sore thumb and they still punished me for it so like… I accepted that this is how it is. Just learned to fight back. Only had to do it the one time for them to back off so… I’d know.”

He would never be the type to dive into a fight, of any kind. But at fifteen, he’d discovered his limit. Harry did not have to be torn apart for his kindness, would not allow himself to be dehumanized for it. He could be simultaneously nice and strong. 

“Didn’t help that I actually said _**I like dick**_ one day at recess, when this girl refused to stop stalking me.”

Zayn snorted, amusement filling his eyes even when they were following the motions of his hands. “Bold one, aren’t you?” 

“I asked politely!” He knew he was pouting and… it was uncalled for. In his intoxicated state, he couldn’t hold it back. “For days I took her aside and asked for her to _please_ leave me alone. But she wouldn’t.”

“So you retaliated by announcing your sexuality to the entire school?”

He was tempted to shrug again, but resisted because it felt as though he’d done that one too many times since they’d been alone. “Never was a secret? Heteronormativity is just a pain in my ass. And it worked, didn’t it?” He feigned pride to mask any other feelings those memories brought to the surface. 

“I don’t doubt it did, babe.” 

It was hard to explain, how one word, four letters, laced with a Bradford accent could fill his chest with warmth. And sent his blood rushing south. Alcohol hardly ever took a toll on a twenty two year old’s bodies, but hopefully it would delay the inevitable and Harry would not be stuck with a hard on while Zayn remained between his thighs.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Harry finally said, when Zayn was placing a bandage along his cheek, pressing gently at the borders of it so it would stick. “You didn’t have to help me. He could have socked you. Both of us.”

Again, humor was all Zayn chose to reveal. “Would have loved to see him try.”

Harry allowed himself to enjoy some of the other boy’s confidence. It was safe, safer than considering what may have been or could have happened.

“How come you’re so good at this?” He found himself touching the bandage while Zayn disposed of wrappers and the gloves he’d worn.

“Lots of sisters. Only one older, so I often had to patch them up.”

It was involuntary, the sudden vision of a younger Zayn kissing boo boos belonging to younger female versions of himself. Something within his chest rattled again. 

His tongue traced his lips when they went dry, his heartbeat so rapid one might mistaken his situation with palpitations. Harry watched as the other male moved about in his kitchen, clearing the counter, returning the first aid kit to its rightful place. 

When they were face to face again, he suddenly appeared… awkward. “I should go.” How he could seem nervous but still demand his voice remain steady was beyond the baker. 

Regardless, Harry caught sight of the clock on their kitchen wall, frowned. “It’s four am. I think it’s safe to say you’re crashing here.”

“Don’t think I will.”

“I didn’t ask, mate.”

Zayn looked as though Harry had slapped him across the face. Perhaps he’d gotten too used to whatever the fuck their dynamics were. 

They barely saw much of the other, but when they did it was short, quiet and often, Zayn throwing one worded instructions in Harry’s direction. More often than not, it was all but too easy for the curly boy to comply. He had been born with a need to please. And perhaps he soon discovered Zayn’s imperative tone to be oddly compelling. In a warming way. Should that make sense.

Right then however, he was not having any of it. Zayn Malik was twenty three, shorter than Harry, slimmer. He had olive skin, more tattoos than anyone could account for and wore his culture as though it were a shield. 

It was quite the opposite. His heritage, his beliefs made him a walking target. Anyone with any understanding of the darker aspects of humanity knew as much. Harry was aware, became more so after meeting the boy. 

Allowing him to wonder in the dark was simply not acceptable. Hate crimes were common but hardly ever made the front cover of a magazine or newspaper. Maybe it was easier to ignore the issue when it wasn’t up in your face. And to imagine some racist, Islamophobic lunatic, unleashing himself upon Zayn…

##                                               No.

“You’re staying here,” Harry told him, standing on unreliable feet. He reached for the counter to steady himself, ignoring the fact that Zayn already had his hand wrapped around his elbow. 

“You’re staying,” he repeated. 

They were both aware of the fact that Louis would be crashing at Liam’s, since he lived closest to the club. Harry was also very aware of the warmth pressing to his flesh. 

“You can crash in my bed. I changed the sheets this morning. I’ll sleep in Louis’,” he explained, as rapidly as his tongue managed. He didn’t want Zayn assuming he was some slag, attempting to get in his pants. 

When the young man in front of him glanced down at himself, Harry shook his head, curls bouncing around in the process. “I’ll lend you something to sleep in.”

Harry himself was a believer of nudity in bed, so Zayn would be the first to actually wear the pajamas Anne purchased when he moved out. It would probably be a little large around his frame. It would probably be cute as fuck. 

He felt himself smile, grin even but Zayn was simply looking at him as though he’d been frozen in time. Eventually, he did come around, nodded once. “Guess you’ll need someone to make sure you don’t choke on your own vomit during the night, yeah?”

The cringing came naturally, his overactive mind quickly gathering a graphic for Zayn’s words. “Nice visual.”

“You’re most welcome.”

He swore he’d never be distracted, but _fuck_ does mockery look tempting when Zayn’s the one doing it.

* * *

 

Louis’ sheets do not carry the divine scent of white soap detergent. In fact, his entire room wreaks of him and… well, it was not pleasant. Harry refused to attempt to decipher what it was he smelled, if it was simply dirty clothes or if there were bodily fluids he had to concern himself with. 

Regardless, he played it safe and stripped the bed entirely, finding freshly ironed sheets in the laundry room. Louis was, undoubtedly, the least organized person he’d ever met. 

Despite his attempts to sooth the transition from one bed to the other, Harry had failed to gather much sleep that night. He’d taken almost an hour to doze off. And was only successful due to his large intake of alcohol.

Whether the bed was too hard, too soft, not large enough… or there was still a lingering scent that did not please his senses, he simply had not rested over the course of the night. He’d twisted and turned, sometimes too hot and others too cold. It could have been that he was aware of the proximity shared with Zayn, that Zayn was tucked in his bed just a couple of feet away. 

It was easy, to envision the young man’s features turned soft in his slumber. He hoped the boy hadn’t grown curious, gone through his drawers and belongings. He didn’t see the type, but Harry realized he hadn’t considered the possibility until it was too late.

When morning came and the city rose, Harry could no longer remain in Louis’ disgusting bedroom. So he had taken his clean sheets and moved into the living room, making a nest of the couch and watching muted cartoons. He dozed off a couple of times, finally convincing his feet to drag him into the kitchen.

At ten am, he had enjoyed his daily intake of fruit. It was odd, that Zayn had not yet woken. Harry had assumed he’d be one of those people who woke before dawn. Evidently, he’d been wrong. And the unfamiliar silence, made him nervous. 

He couldn’t help but thank whichever divine forces existed that Zayn had brought him to his own place, as opposed to his. If he was restless in his own home, Harry would probably have gone crazy in unfamiliar territory.

His nerves got the best of him at half past eleven, when he finally decided to make use of his apron and culinary skills. Overall, he made far more food than necessary. He’d never known what Zayn ate, so he made any and everything that came to mind when one thought of breakfast. He excluded bacon. 

Despite cooking being a means of distraction, it had successfully drawn Zayn from his bedroom. Zayn, who was always so collected and cool, suddenly tender and pliable.

Lacking manners in the morning, Liam’s mate took a seat. He said nothing, palms pressing into his eyeballs as he sighed. As predicted, Harry’s cozy sleepwear was looser around the other boy, but it added to his currently softened appearance. 

Generally speaking, Zayn was handsome, hot. Right then, he was **cute**. Harry didn’t think most got to witness such moments. He was glad he had been given the opportunity. 

Gemma had never been a morning person. She’d smacked him across the head more times than he could count for blabbering in her ear first thing. Zayn didn’t seem to keen on mornings either. Not that the young man suspected his guest might actually physically punish him for speaking, but he just thought silence might be the best approach. 

He finished frying the last batch of pancakes, placed them on a plate on the center of the island. Harry had taken out sugar, cinnamon, nutella, ice cream. He had fresh orange juice and had made french toast, as well as eggs (some scrambled, a couple fried and a couple boiled). 

Ignorant of most of Zayn’s likes and dislikes, he could specifically recall Liam commenting on his abuse of dark coffee. So he had brewed the caffeinated beverage, filled a large mug and placed it before the half-asleep man.

For a while, eating in silence while Zayn brought himself to take prolonged sips of coffee was all the duo did. It should have been nerve wrecking for Harry. Well… it had been. For the first few seconds. And then, somehow, whatever jitters he’d been experiencing over the course of the morning, dissolved entirely. It had not been awkward or uncomfortable, to sit besides Zayn while he fully woke up. Sometimes, Harry couldn’t even be quiet with Louis. Then again, Louis grew agitated with lack of commotion - more so than Harry. 

It was not common behaviour, but he enjoyed the peace. Maybe he should not have, maybe it was weird how two men who barely knew each other could sit side by side, savour a meal in complete silence. It was equally uncommon that people who’d only conversed alone twice had done as much as they had. 

From the very first moment, Zayn Malik had turned his life upside down. He’d fainted and he’d been caught. He’d been fed by the man and defended by him as well. Just the night before, he’d been nursed by him. 

All things considered, perhaps it wasn’t strange in the slightest. It was… domestic. 

It reminded him of Anne, dragging herself out of bed in the morning just to watch her son before he went to work. He thought of how she’d sit and drink coffee, let Harry hum to his favorite songs while preparing the first meal of the day. 

“No hangover?” Zayn inquired some time after. 

He’d failed to startle the youngest, against all odds. His voice was raspy, in a way that probably made Harry’s toes curl. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, eyelids lower than usual. 

“Don’t usually get them,” he admitted.

The first nodded, finally commencing breakfast. He enjoyed his meal at a slower pace than Harry was used to. Then again, Louis just about inhaled his meals. As did Niall. Liam possessed better manners, but Zayn was probably struggling with his exhaustion. 

Harry was suddenly very tempted to offer a massage. He caught himself at the last moment, clearing his throat and aiming for a different train of thought. 

“Thanks for last night.” 

Zayn looked up. His focus instantly became the bandage on Harry’s cheek and then his cut lip. He said nothing, even when Harry knew it was impossible not to note the purple by the corner of his mouth. He’d stared himself down, long and hard, after brushing his teeth the night before. 

A single nod was given before |ayn directed his attention elsewhere. His gaze lingered by the couch. 

“I watch TV every morning. When I get mornings off,” he explained, even when no question had been asked. 

“What do you watch?” 

That hoarse voice was going to be the death of him.

“Power rangers.”

Something entirely new took claim of Zayn’s features as he looked over his shoulder to where the TV was. Harry could not label it, give it a term or pinpoint exactly what it was about it that was so fucking heart warming. But he never wanted it to go away. 

“Still on?”

"I can rewind it.”

He was suddenly met with larger brown eyes, hidden under thick eyelashes. If Zayn’s open expression hadn’t robbed Harry of all oxygen, then the poorly hidden hope in Zayn’s eyes had him done for. It was in that moment that the tall, clumsy boy from Redditch realized what a threat Zayn Malik truly was to his well being, the lengths he’d go to, to ensure that same look unimaginable. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just turned twenty-three and decided updating this story was the best form of celebration.  
> I don't know if the upcoming chapters will remain the same length and be continuously updated, or if I'll finally get around to writing longer chapters that are a week apart.  
> Find me [HERE](http://adriannaspromo.tumblr.com/ask).  
> 


	5. Fuck you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas time and you get glimpses of some of Harry's friendships.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't believe there are any triggering contents here or necessary warning. If I've overlooked anything major, please don't hesitate to contact me and I'll add a warning.

After breakfast, the resident of the apartment had lost the apron. Zayn had arched an eyebrow once he was significantly awake, but never questioned the other’s lack of clothing. Harry took it as permission to remain as he was and avoid the nuisance of clothes. He was also relieved at the commentary that never came regarding his older scars. Or his random tattoos. 

Somehow two episodes were followed by two more. And then another. Harry enjoyed the show, but it had been several years since he’d binge watched Power Rangers.

It was impossible to do otherwise. Any time he’d ask “Should we watch another?” Zayn would shrug, but something about the way his eyes gained life, even when he was simply staring at the credits rolling on the screen… Harry couldn’t do anything but find more episodes.

He was reminded of children, who visit and are desperate to accept the dessert the host is offering, but have to consult their parents first; that shyness tangled with wanton.

So the pair remained on the couch, Harry lightly covered in his sheets (and not much else), while Zayn wrapped a couple of blankets around his frame.

They’d only just begun a new episode when muffled sounds came from the other side of their front door. At first, Harry assumed it to be uncommonly loud neighbours and then, eventually, recognized whom it was.

“Louis, open the God damn door!”

“I’m looking for my keys, Liam. Chill!”

Silence followed, Zayn and Harry exchanging a questioning look. Their arms were draped along the back of the couch, hands mere inches from touching.

“Louis!”

Commotion followed, most of which they couldn’t make out through the thickness of their front door but after twisting and turning the key several times, Louis and Liam finally entered the apartment.

Rather than acknowledge the other two boys, they headed towards the bedrooms, triggering another quiet exchange between Zayn and Harry. They could hear them best within the flat, despite the second duo being on the opposite end of the apartment.

“They’re not here.” Liam’s voice. 

“I told you they weren’t fucking.” Louis sounded closer and, soon, he came into sight, walking down the hall. 

“I didn’t say that-”

“You implied.” Louis almost sounded as though he were reprimanding the other male. Which was… laughable. “Harry wouldn’t-”

“Zayn!” 

Liam’s exclamation had cut Louis short, but honestly, the first seemed truly relieved to be reunited with his friend.

“Hey,” Zayn had replied, probably for lack of anything else to say. 

“I’ve been calling. Your phone’s off.” Zayn shrugged at Liam’s words, his attention seemingly torn between his friend and the telly.

Louis’ features were no longer relaxed. He wasn’t rolling his eyes or as exasperated as he’d sounded just a moment before. Instead, his blue eyes had turned cold, bearing a true resemblance to steel, gaze aimed at Harry.

Had he not known any better, the youngest of the four might have assumed he had wronged his friend in some way, because Louis’ rage was palpable.

“What the fuck happened to your face?”

Involuntarily, his fingers reached for his cheek, his bust lip still throbbing from the previous night’s events. “A guy tried to drag Lauren into the club and I- Louis!”

In a matter of seconds, Harry was covered in limbs. He tried inching towards on end of the couch so Zayn wouldn’t have to be inconvenienced by Louis climbing on top of him.

Smaller hands covered most of his face, knees pressing to each of his sides as Louis made a seat of Harry’s torso. He was aware of Liam and Zayn’s eyes on them. His roommate… not so much.

“Louis!”

“Let me see!”

“It’s no big deal-”

“Your lip is the size of a plump and you’ve got the most disgusting bruise I’ve ever seen. It’s not fucking nothing!”

A groan turned within his chest. “I’m fine.”

“Do I even want to know what’s under that bandage? Anne is gonna kill me.” There was still anger in his voice. “Why didn’t you get me?”

“You were drunk and-”

“So were you!”

Harry couldn’t help but sigh. It had not been an accusation. It had been fact. “That’s why _Zayn_ fixed it up.”

Mentioning Zayn had sobered Louis somewhat. He straightened, though he was still all over Harry, seemingly without any intentions of peeling himself from his torso. He had an odd expression and then… _**smug**_.

Squirming slightly underneath the light weight, Harry manifested his own frustration with a quiet huff. “Get off me before Liam gives me a black eye to complete the look.”

Again, the body above his own stilled. Only to then ooze further of satisfaction. That was never good. “You jealous, Liam?” That tone was always followed by trouble.

Wide eyes turned to check up on Louis’ boyfriend. He wasn’t tense, did not appear angry, but something…. uncomfortable surrounded him.

“Get off me, Louis!”

“Or what, you’ll get a stiffy?” 

“I hope Liam puts you on a dry spell for that.”

A grin spread across Louis’ features and he was just about bouncing on Harry’s stomach. “No more of that crap. He finally put me out of my misery. Sort of why we’re here right now. Liam’s got one too!”

Anyone else might have asked. Harry, however, was looking at Liam, still standing on the other side of the couch, seemingly in an awkward position. “Star shaped scar on your knee?”

With a sheepish smile on his face, Liam nodded. His cheeks seemed to have gained some color as well.

Harry, on the other hand, was already smiling back at Louis, who just about collapsed onto him. His friend’s deadly grip was almost a threat to his functioning lungs, but it was a testament to Harry’s joy, how he powered his way through that.

“Any one of you **fuckers** wanna let me in on what’s happenin’?” Zayn demanded, not entirely annoyed but almost. Harry was just surprised to hear him cuss. He’d done it yesterday as well, he realised. When he’d pulled that large bloke away from Harry.

_Don’t_ **fucking** _touch him._

Louis had a sailor mouth on him, used it whenever he deemed fit. Not once had it ever had an effect on Harry. Unless by affect one was to anticipate scolding. But coming from Zayn… something about how it rolled of his tongue lead Harry’s body to clench.

God help him if he decided to grow hard then.

“They’re soulmates,” Harry blurted out, his gaze shifting from Zayn back to Louis. “All the more reason for you to get off me. Shouldn’t you be climbing _Liam_ like a tree now that you’ve-”

Having rolled his eyes, Louis made no motion to lift himself from his roommate. “That’s truly ungrateful, Harry. I drag myself and my soulmate here to deliver the good news-”

“Don’t pretend like you’re not here because Liam was worried about Zayn.”

If he were drunk, he’d swear Louis was pouting above him. Sober, he knew it to be impossible. But he could have been fooled. “Okay, okay, maybe I wanted to go a couple more rounds.” He ignored the groan Harry produced. “But I wanted to tell you… I finally get it. The soulmate business. Why it’s so important to you.”

Whether they had this conversation in private or in a group, the young man would have been uncomfortable. In a group, however, that sense of being misplaced was intensified.

He was too aware of the other two males, whom he was not entirely open with just yet. He liked them, enjoyed their company, but it would take more than six weeks before Harry decided to confide in them.

In retrospective, he’d trusted Louis after a handful of days. Louis was, of course, a rare exception. Due to previous episodes, Harry wasn’t always the most willing to trust in others.

“I’m happy for you, Louis.” It probably showed, if the smile Louis was mirroring was anything to go on. “But can we have this conversation another time? When you’re not resting your body weight on my chest.”

Blue eyes grew wide and Louis jolted suddenly. He had been there one moment and then he was gone, standing on the floor instead. “Didn’t put too much pressure on them, did I?” He placed his tiny hand on Harry’s bare flesh, where he thought his lungs to be, searching for evidence of a rupture.

He faked a cheeky grin. “Just wanted you off me.”

It was easy to tell that Louis could see past the facade. He still played along, rolled his eyes and withdrew his hand. “Good thing _we’re_ not soulmates. I’d have you coughing up a lung within twenty minutes.”

Quite naturally, the four males eventually shared the couch. It was short lived. An episode later Harry announced he’d be making lunch. Zayn had volunteered to assist but Harry recognized the temptation in his gaze as Louis found old Batman episodes. So he’d dismissed him, isolated himself in the kitchen for an hour or so.

Cooking was therapeutic to him, had always been. The bakery was his ‘zone’, surrounded by all necessary ingredients and equipment. His hands seemed to work best on desserts; elaborated ones at that. He loved to decorate, produce something that was as delicious as it was _pretty_.

Proper food was also good, considering it was required to live. With his inclination towards healthy choices, it was simply practical that Harry cook. Louis didn’t protest - unless it was about the amount of vegetables.

Accustomed to only emerging from his own little bubble on his own time, Harry was startled when he turned away from the stove, suddenly face to face with Zayn.

“Do I need to be worried?” he questioned just as Harry’s lips parted to ask why he was no longer absorbed in a series he clearly enjoyed. “About whatever you and Louis have going on?” His voice was quiet, eyes hard as they looked at Harry. “Because Liam’s my best mate and he has shitty taste when it comes to the people he dates.”

Eyebrows rose and for a long while Harry could only stare back. Zayn’s eyes were unforgiving, however, so he felt compelled to answer.

“Are you suggesting Louis would cheat on his soulmate?” He was dreadfully quiet as he stepped forward, careful to not alert the two individuals in the living room. “Louis isn’t like that. He’d never cheat. On anyone. Whether it was his soulmate or otherwise.”

Zayn scoffed. Actually, literally, scoffed. He looked as though he might just roll his eyes too. “I’d take your indignation a little more seriously if I hadn’t _literally_ just watched him mount you.”

Living with Louis, one had to develop a certain immunity to trash talk. Yet, somehow, all Zayn had to do was mention mounting and suddenly Harry felt his cheeks heat. His anger, however, outweighed the unforeseen rush of arousal

He was suddenly thrown back to a time when his peers pointed fingers, accused him of being too tender and gentle, labelled him as _clingy_ for the way he held his sister’s hand or stood behind his mother’s legs. That had been his childhood.

In his adolescence, when others his own age began to take an interest, kissing them seemed to be as good of a hobby as any. Ironic, that the one boy refusing to engage in intercourse in high school somehow earned a reputation for being easy, needy.

Rumours spread like wildfire in small towns. It wasn’t long before the term **_slag_** got thrown around, even when Harry had only been seen to kiss a handful of people at a couple of parties.

Logically, he would have known that whatever anger was brewing within him was not aimed at Zayn, but at every other local from his hometown. As it was, the boy standing in his kitchen had been the one to trigger it so he was the one on the receiving end of Harry’s cold stare.

“”I’m not a whore,” he hissed.

Harry had never made the conscious decision to close the gap between them, but his index had pressed into Zayn’s chest. The other’s body turned rigid under his touch, but he refused to back down. As did Harry. 

Something in his voice had shaken something inside Zayn. He could tell. Just as he knew that the only reason Zayn’s features weren’t giving way to his own emotions was because he was just that stubborn. None of that mattered; not in that moment.

He probably sounded venomous. Could he be blamed, when there were ancient taunts echoing in the depths of his minds, causing his hands to tremble? He ignored the latter symptoms. “Louis is family.”

The dish towel - the only piece of cloth on his body - was removed from his shoulder and tossed on top of the island. Harry turned off the stove, no longer set on finishing what he had started.

Ocean green was met with chocolate and he didn’t second guess himself when he faced the young man again. “Fuck you.”

* * *

 

Most of which followed his harsh exchange with Zayn proved to be a blur until he was behind the steering wheel.

Harry had drove for several minutes, his mind blank, incapable of registering anything that was not speed limits and road signs. Driving had proved to be a delightful way of unwinding. It was hardly ever necessary, however. More often than not, Louis smacked sense into him, forcing him to see how minor his issue was before he got to the car.

Not that day.

Just as he parked his car outside his first working place did Harry remember leaving the kitchen so he could hastily get dressed. He’d taken his wallet and keys, walked out and slammed the door behind him.

Only when several miles away did he become aware that his roommate had called out for him when he realised he was leaving. Maybe he’d even followed him. Harry didn’t recall seeing the blue eyed boy in the parking lot. But he’d been pretty far gone by then.

He’d decided to go to Anne’s, sat in the car for a while just looking at the small house. It was odd, to be there and not walk in, not be welcomed by her warm embrace.

Once his heartbeat had steadied and his body relaxed, Harry turned the ignition again. He could breathe easily then. The road back would be an added bonus to his cooling off period.

Going past his high school had only left him with a minor sting in his chest. He’d dealt with his past. For the most part, he’d been convinced that it was in the past. Until Zayn’s implication brought a thousand unforgotten instants back. They refused to be ignored. Which had been a first. Maybe bolting out hadn’t been the best way of handling the matter. But what alternative did he have?

There had been a conversation he’d overheard as a junior, shared between two openly gay seniors where they spoke of him. That had been the worst memory to date. Harry had never found it in him to speak aloud the words he’d heard. It was scarring, to have them immortalised in his mind. He lacked the courage to echo them.

When he told Louis about it, he’d chosen to simply say ‘they objectified me’. It was vague, somewhat open to interpretation. Whether Louis had known because of their mutual understanding or Anne had spoken to him about that particular topic, Harry got the sense that he knew.

He’d squeezed the air out of Harry in a bone crushing hug, cursing into thick locks and promised to tear apart the bastards should they ever see them. It had been the first time the curly boy had found comfort at the prospect of violence.

By the time he’d returned home, he felt drained, completely exhausted. It would have proven difficult, to explain to anyone how driving home and back had left him in such a state. Specially when it was a ninety minute drive each way.

It felt as though Harry had gone down memory lane with his ugliest demons. The worst outcome of that adventure was the invisible layer of dirt he felt coating his body. From previous experience, he knew no number of showers would make him feel clean. The insults clung to his mind and no amount of scrubbing down would wash it away.

While waiting in the elevator, he found his hands still possessed a bit of a tremor to them. It had subsided since he first took off and, hopefully, he wouldn’t be speaking to Louis long enough for the other to notice.

Regardless of his best efforts, the door still produced a sound announcing his arrival. Louis had been up in his face before he could disappear into the hallway.

“Harry?”

He had prepared himself for the _eventual_ reunion but had hoped his friend would be in the living room. Or bedroom. Not by the entrance as he walked in, ensuring a getaway was harder to do than he’d anticipated.

Having quickly glanced around, ears attentive for any sounds that might suggest they were not alone, Harry merely stood in place. His one hand was still attached to the keys,

Something uncomfortable crept up his neck. He tried conjuring a lie, justifying his abrupt departure. Nothing came to mind, even when he opened his mouth to attempt some form of speech.

“Is Hazza back?”

Was that- Oh, thank God. Niall Horan, hangover-free, looking as radiant as ever as he joined the other two boys by the entrance.

His mind finally kicked back into gears, nudging him to tug the key from the keyhole so he might finally close the door.

“Where did you go?” Everything in Louis form oozed of suspicion. Harry never did excel under pressure.

He tried shrugging noncommittally. “Went for a drive.”

Louis was aware that he was already avoiding proper answers, but Niall was far too excited to take notice. He enthusiastically filled Harry in on how his night had come to an end, deeply interested in how it was Harry the pacifist earned himself the handiwork done to his baby features.

“Still so pretty,” the Irishman had assured him, leading Louis to scoff. 

Only having disposed of his wallet and keys by the table, his roommate announced that he’d be abandoning his two friends. It seemed Liam was awaiting the brunet. Louis claimed he’d only delayed the inevitable to ensure Harry would, in fact, be returning home.

When Niall threw himself on their couch, Harry now in the kitchen preparing a snack, Louis cornered him. “We’ll talk later,” he groaned.

They’d been friends long enough for the doe eyed male to know that, in fact, Louis would be persistent in his quest for knowledge. But if anything, a bullied child knew to keep his secrets deep under. Louis had nothing on Harry’s former bullies. Or the authority figures who tried pulling the truth from him.

* * *

 

Days quickly morphed together, until he lost track. Shortly after Harry’s spat with Zayn, Christmas break had come along, separating him from his irritated roommate. For days, the impatient boy from Doncaster had done all in his power to wear Harry down. Perhaps it was Harry’s sudden change in mood that motivated him to go at it that much harder. He couldn’t help it, though. Sometimes he slipped into those darker parts of his mind and almost drowned there. It was not intentional. But he always came back up for air.

Their farewell was, therefore, somewhat nerve wrecking in comparison to previous ones. Hawk eyes followed him closely, narrowing. He gave intimidation a fair shot, but Harry had swiftly brushed him off; as he’d done anyone who tried engaging in conversation with him. Niall was, suddenly, the exception. Partially because he didn’t try so hard.

Despite the recent tension, he’d still found himself with smaller arms wrapped around his broad shoulders. Louis pulled him down until their chests met, squeezed tighter. “Idiot,” he hissed before relinquishing his hold on Harry to kiss Liam for five more minutes.

By the time Louis’ mother came around, both young men were breathless, lips swollen and, in Liam’s case, cheeks rosy. Though he could easily fault all of the evidence on the unforgiving cold.

Jay had pinched Harry’s cheeks as a form of greeting, before kissing the one. She’d introduced herself to the unfamiliar faces and left with her son soon after, as though she feared lingering might cause Louis to suddenly have a change of heart, decide to stay.

Given his recent passive aggressiveness, Harry had slipped back into the bakery, resumed his post. He had not expected the two friends to do the same.

As of late, he’d been keeping everyone at arm’s length. There were a couple of exceptions. Niall, who just the day before wrapped his arms around Harry’s chest from behind, pulled the pair of them onto the couch while still linked together. Lauren was also growing more comfortable in Harry’s presence, sometimes opting to assist in the back rather than serve tables. She revealed some talent, so he couldn’t complain. The added set of hands were most welcome at this busy time of year.

Liam sometimes tried to include Harry in conversation, asking complex questions that Niall answered instead. Harry’s agitation was mostly tied to Zayn, who was attached to Liam by the hip. They sat together, stood together, walked together. Any time he was to glance at one, he knew to expect the other.

It wasn’t Liam’s fault. Hell, even Zayn had no true guilt in the emotional wreckage he felt. Zayn was looking out for his mate, in the same manner Harry had voiced his concerned when the two boys began hooking up. This knowledge did not lessen the sting of Zayn’s implication, it did not hush the old chants.

Borderline hostile, there was no reason any sane person would want to share the same space as Harry. Yet the two did just that, claiming their usual seat, ordering something from Lauren, who still only managed to smile tightly at most individuals.

The two stood shortly after and, for a fleeting moment, he assumed they’d be leaving. He was proved wrong. Zayn had stepped outside to smoke. In his absence, Liam decided to pay. But instead of sitting down again, he stood beside Harry.

Harry was a as subtle as a train wreck. It was fact. Liam, it appeared, was no better. Not having yet spoken, Harry could already see the guilt splashed across his features.

So he thought it best to spare him. “Whatever Louis asked you to do… just don’t.” Whether it was to investigate or approach Harry… it was a waste of time.

“Actually, I figured he’d be pissed if he knew. Was gonna ask you not to tell him.” The tip of his ears turned a darker shade of pink, his guilt now fused with embarrassment. 

Unaware as to what it was he was supposed to conceal form his friend, Harry arched an eyebrow. He said nothing, refused to make a promise he might not keep.

Liam’s mouth opened a couple of times. He reconsidered, stopped himself, seemed to decide to start over and then gave up all over again. Luckily, Harry was busy trying to make a solid guess on the topic, so he hadn’t lost his patience with the boy.

“If you were in trouble… you’d let Louis know, right?”

_What?_

Cautiously, Harry turned away from the gingerbread he’d been decorating, looked up to meet what seemed to be a concerned Liam.

“Like” okay, he was pulling a chair to sit beside him “Louis is starting to worry. In his own way, I guess. He jokes about it, sounds a little too bitter for any of his sarcasm or insults to be genuine.”

He did do that, had been eyeing Harry for long moments. He’d not considered that his behaviour might have been alarming. Not until that moment. 

Something in his gut twisted, made him feel nauseated. Part of him expected Liam to demand he snap out of it, stop acting out and drawing all of his boyfriend’s attention. He waited for an accusation that never came, his hands still, refusing to work while the silence was prolonged.

He concentrated much too hard on his design. His fingers were still flexing but not doing much else. Inevitably, he knew he’d have to confront Liam once more. Best now than later.

“Do you think we… do stuff? Louis and I?” Furrowed brows hinted at confusion from the other man’s end. Harry sighed, having reached the conclusion that he’d have to spit it out. “People assume all the time- y _ou_ assumed. The day you met. I don’t want you to think that we’re- that I’m some kind of-”

“I don’t,” Liam assured him, slowly but surely catching on. “Harry, I don’t think you’re anything. I’d know. If Louis were… getting his fill elsewhere. I’d know.”

“So you trust me?”

Silence. That was never good.

“Is that what this is about?” Sounded genuinely intrigued. “Is this why you’ve been… weird?” A much kinder term than Harry would have used. 

In his exhausting journey to push everyone away, Harry had forgotten how he’d learned to like Liam in the initial stages of his relationship with Louis. Liam was kind-spirited, too polite for his own good, with brown puppy eyes that worked wonders on persuading his friend.

He’d not realised how he’d missed Liam’s soothing nature until that very moment. Barely friends, Liam had worried, cornered Harry just to ensure nothing odd or life threatening was keeping him from his friends.

“Just don’t want you to think…”

“Think what?” he’d prompted gently when the baker trailed off. 

He shrugged lamely. “That I’m some kind of… manwhore. That I’m after your soulmate. That I’m a homewrecker.” He faced his friend’s boyfriend one again. “I’m not.”

“Harry, I never said-”

“You didn’t have to!” His sudden outburst was louder than he expected and he flinched at his own reaction. 

Fingers curled into fists above his thighs, eyes closed as though he might will the curious gaze of strangers away. Not many seemed to have taken notice of the higher volume in Harry’s speech. He breathed out his relief.

Liam was waiting, though, watching attentively. So he was compelled to finish. “No one ever says it to your face. Not polite people. You’re polite. I know people think I’m too” he sprawled his fingers along his legs, ran his palms up and down “ _handsy_. I’m always touching, being touched. I feed off the attention of strangers. I know. I know.”

His voice broke before he could think of anything else to add. His head tilted forward just as his fingertips halted by his knees. Harry forced himself to inhale sharply. He took his time in expelling that rush of air.

It was impossible to calculate how long he sat there for, just breathing with his head hung low. But it was something he needed, a time out to breathe after finally laying some of it out.

Brought back by fingertips pressing into the back of his neck, Harry turned to see that Liam was close by, lips timidly curling. “I think it’s refreshing,” he admitted quietly. “You care. You let it show. Not everyone knows how to do that.”

He begun to turn his head, caught himself and then stopped. It had taken him a moment too long. Harry was already looking over his shoulder, found himself watching Zayn ignite a second cigarette.

Zayn Malik was the embodiment of cool. He wore leather, had tattoos, he smoked. He seemed immune to those around him, indifferent to what they might think or say about him. He always kept himself in check, his emotions under control. A lot of what Harry would once have killed to be… it seemed to come naturally to this man.

Just for a moment, he allowed himself to be attacked by the ugly green monster that was envy. “He cares too,” Liam told him even when Harry was certain he had failed to ask anything. “Has the biggest heart. Just doesn’t know what to do with it. Sometimes I think he resents himself. You know… for caring? Thinks it’s a weakness.” Liam huffed, but Harry understood.

Vulnerability was never a shield, was never perceived to be a strength.

“Are we good?” Liam asked, catching Harry off guard and not for the first time that day. 

His smile must have been tight, similar to Lauren’s because Liam did not seem convinced by it. “No, yeah.” Further confusion. “I… Yeah, if you get that I’m… me. And you get that I’m not like… interested in Louis. There’s… We’re like brothers. I know it sounds like a cliche. It probably is. But like… I only have Gemma. Louis has a shit ton of sisters. It’s different… having a guy around.”

Wondering briefly if he’d made much sense, he was glad Liam seemed to follow his turbulent course of thought. “Same. Two older sisters. Zayn has three. So I guess it’s a mirror to our friendship. I understand.”

Harry found himself nodding, though he most likely lacked conviction because Liam decided to speak after a moment of deliberation. “I won’t ever accuse you of being with Louis. If he ever thought Zayn and I-” he visibly shuddered and Harry couldn’t help but frown. How could anyone shudder at the possibility of heated encounters with Zayn? Well… he would shudder but pleasantly, not with disgust. “We’re good then?”

At long last, a small but quite honest smile touched his plump lips. “Yeah, we’re good.” And it was worthwhile, if only to have Liam beaming down at him, relief washing over his adorable features.

* * *

 

Liam’s older sister had picked him up a couple of hours after their conversation. Harry had driven Niall to the airport that same day, watched as a plane took him back to Ireland.

Lauren would be staying for the break, as flights to America were far beyond her budget. Harry sensed there was more to the matter than money, but knew not to press the girl for answers. He’d smiled instead, decided she’d be spending Christmas with his family instead.

“No, I don’t think I will,” she mumbled, cheeks gaining some colour. “You should- You should be with your family.”

“I will be.” He grinned a cheeky grin. “Besides, it’s just mum and me. A third party would be welcomed. She’s an amazing cook and Redditch is great this time of year.”

The brunette chewed on her lip for several moments, eyeing Harry closely. He was careful to not allow his smile to wither under her gaze. “Okay,” she finally breathed, and then gasped when he crushed her in his tight embrace.

It was effortless, lifting her feet from the ground and he rocked her from side to side until laughter spilled from her lips.

Gently, he set her down, pulled away. “Won’t your mom think I’m- that we’re-”

His initial confusion melted into amusement, lips curling with ease. “She knew I was gay long before I even knew what _sexual orientation_ meant.”

Lauren nodded in understanding, relief tainting her features just slightly. “So what should I bring?”

“Clothes. Yourself. Laptop, if you have one. I’m sure we’ll keep busy though.”

She’d nodded again, aimed to speak only to then stop herself. Harry waited,quickly realised she was no longer looking at him, but over his shoulder.

Behind him, within the heated kitchen, stood Zayn. He appeared serious, as he often did, still wearing torn, skinny black jeans and a leather jacket. Despite his choice in attire, he seemed perfectly comfortable in the heat. Harry was accustomed to the environment, but even in his light t-shirt and his curls caught in a bun, he was hyper aware of the warmth surrounding them.

For several moments, neither moved, frozen in their positions, refusing to budge. Lauren muttered something that sounded like “Nice to see you again” and quietly slipped past the door.

Harry imagined the girl to be more comfortable around Zayn than she was with most. Regardless of their lack of contact, he had been there that fateful night at the club. And her usual stuttering seized to make an appearance in his presence. Which he had yet to explain.

“Only staff is allowed back here,” Harry blurted out, before he could think to stop himself. 

“I won’t be long.” The baker’s fingers tapped quietly on the counter, while he willed himself to be patient. “She looks good.”

_What?_

Oh, right, Lauren. “Yeah,” he replied slowly, eyes still narrowed when looking at the other male. “What do you want, Zayn?”

His lips had pressed into a tight line. Harry thought, maybe, he’d just turn around and leave. Once more he was reminded of how unpredictable Zayn could be - or how little he knew him.

Having taken a step towards the curly boy, Harry fought the urge to step back. Looking at the Bradford boy’s features for too long might just throw him off course. Why take that risk? But backing down was not necessarily an option.

“You’ve been acting out.” Not a question. “Thought I’d bring a peace offering. Or a Christmas gift.”

Eyebrows rose, his eyes scanning the oddly shaped package the shorter male extended towards him. “You’re Muslim. You don’t celebrate Christmas.”

“Are _you_ Muslim?”

Looking up, he noted there was some humour no only in Zayn’s tone but his features. It was a rare sight, perhaps even a first. If Harry were not consciously reminding himself that he was still defensive, he might have smiled.

“I didn’t get you anything.” His gaze lowered, still frowning at the offering. 

“Like you said… I’m Muslim. You don’t need to get me anything.” 

He stared harshly at the the boy with olive skin, and then sighed because, logically, he knew those old insecurities were not to be blamed on him. He was angry at his… _**implication**_ , but Zayn had never mocked or taunted, insulted him as his fellow classmates had. And maybe his past experience as a student was part of the reason he had yet to enrol into university.

He sighed audibly, sitting as he did so. “Is this a coping mechanism for guilt? ‘Cause I didn’t appreciate the accusation but I overreacted and that’s not on you. Louis would have told me to get my head out of my ass if I told him about it, so I didn’t. This” he hinted at the gift in Zayn’s hand “isn’t necessary.”

It seemed as though his words had pushed the air from Liam’s friend’s body. If defeat was possible for Zayn, this would have been when he’d experience it. “It’s just a present, Harry.”

Frustrating was an understatement when describing how he felt. It shouldn’t have been permitted, that someone have only but to speak his name for him to cave.

Long fingers reluctantly reached towards the individual beside him. He placed the wrapped gift on his lap, fingers tracing it’s length, trying to make an intelligent guess.

He heard rather than saw Zayn pull a chair, sit close by. “You going to open it?” he questioned after several moments passed between them.

“Don’t think I will. Don’t want you to get smug if, God forbid, I actually like it.”

Quite the privilege, to be the reason behind Zayn’s smile and muffled chuckle. Only in that moment did he register how the corners of his eyes would wrinkle. Up close it was a different kind of beauty; the overwhelming type. If he weren’t constantly aware of Zayn’s beauty, he’d have held his breath, maybe gasped. Instead, he somewhat stared until he caught himself and forced his focus towards the gift.

“Harry.” Damn it. “I didn’t mean to accuse you of-”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. It upset you. I was just looking out for Liam.” 

For a second time, the green eyed boy sighed. “I get it.”

Louis and Harry were kindred spirits, but far from soulmates. Even if their scars had matched, there was no way in hell the two would ever make an attempt at romance. At best, they’d be companions for life, most likely marry free spirits. To someone as simple minded as Harry, it was not hard to understand his friendship with Louis.

Monogamy was hardwired into his core, if not his DNA. Rationally, he understood that no one could possibly know that about him by simply looking at him. It still irked him that after all those years, something about him inspired others to link him to promiscuity.

Brought back by warm fingers on his elbow, Harry almost startled at the sudden contact. “I’m sorry.” The words seemed to be foreign to him. Harry tried to sympathise, thinking of Louis, who often struggled to apologise.

He felt himself being reeled in by Zayn’s gaze. The safe option was to stand, walk away from the handsome young man. He busied himself with unimportant tasks, the gift now forgotten on a clean surface.

“Are you going to open it, then?”

“Yes.” Harry grinned cheekily, most of it an act to feign confidence. “When I open the others on Christmas Eve.”

Zayn produced a sound similar to a scoff, but did not protest. He left Harry to his own devices and, at long last, Harry felt as though he could finally breathe, no longer hyper aware of brown eyes following his every move.

* * *

 

Lauren and Harry stayed in town until the twenty second of December. The longer the duo were left alone, the further they bonded. Harry learned that their shared silences were comfortable. It was a bonus, that the female did not seem annoyed by his constant rants or playful nature.

Initially, she’d not been keen to physical contact and, in turn, Harry had intentionally avoided as much. She had boundaries and he respected them, even without learning their source. It didn’t matter why she had certain quirks, only that he respect them. That was friendship.

Working together became second nature to the pair. They knew how to work around each other without proving a menace to either. Their productivity was rewarded in Christmas bonuses and tips.

When they were finally in Redditch, Harry trusted his shy co-worker to be sufficiently confident in their friendship to feel at home. They had sung for most of the drive, once he discovered which tunes she favoured, both still humming to Destiny’s Child when Anne returned home after work.

They’d been in the family kitchen, working on dinner when his mother stumbled upon their early arrival. She’d instantly held onto Harry, unconcerned for her safety considering she could have burned herself on the hot sauce he was preparing.

When she faced Lauren, she’d been warm and welcoming without imposing upon the girl’s space. Harry had insisted she not overwhelm the brunette. Anne, bless her soul, had done as much without questioning.

That first night, all three shared a couch and several blankets. They’d watched  _Love Actually_ and _How the Grinch Stole Christmas,_ each with their own sample of Harry’s souffle.

Unsurprisingly, Harry had dozed off, surrounded by warmth and company. Lauren had followed his example, temple resting against his shoulder. At some point in the night, he’d shifted their bodies so her head was resting against the fluffy pillow on one end of the couch, while his rested on their others. Their bodies were connected by the feet. He hoped she’d be alright with it come morning.

The twenty third came and went rather rapidly. Harry had taken Lauren to his first working location, introduced her to all the old ladies he had once worked with. He’d taken her to his high school and favourite hidden areas around town. He’d answered any questions she had. Having long learned that interrogating others was her way of avoiding questions targeted at her, he never returned the favour.

Anne uploaded a couple of pictures of the two and a video of their culinary adventures, often accompanied with their voices harmonising in the background. Lauren had linked her family, whom had insisted on a skype call.

Much larger and louder than his small family, Harry was repeatedly struck with gratitude that his friend had agreed to join him for Christmas. Her family also seemed happy with the decision.

Christmas day had been slow and quiet. He’d shaken Lauren awake just after dawn and, miraculously convinced her to make a snowman and design angels on the cold ground. They’d rolled around in the snow for moments after, Harry chuckling until the cold air made his lungs hurt.

They took pictures of each other, of their art, of their fun. They’d spent most of the day in the kitchen, while Anne was out working. They shared a meal - a recipe from Lauren’s Hispanic family. She’d explained how her family usually celebrated the holiday season and, despite Harry’s offer, she assured him this year’s Christmas was far better than she could have hoped for.

“I never did thank you. For that night in the club. And Zayn.” 

He hadn’t expected to hear that name, tensed and then relaxed. Upon looking at the girl, he realised she hadn’t taken notice of his odd reaction. “That guy was a twat.”

Laughter spilled past her lips, temple resting on his shoulder as they watched Charlie Brown on the screen. “He was,” she agreed quietly.

It took him by surprise, that she was close without being sleepy, that she took initiative. “I’ll kick his ass. You do know that, right? If he comes around again.”

A mere hum was all she gave. Harry straightened, looking down at her seriously. She’d glanced up, green meeting green. “I mean it,” Harry pressed. “You don’t have to deal with assholes like that.”

Intimidating women was how jackasses such as the one they’d met got away with their inexcusable attitudes.

“I went out with him,” Lauren sighed, her gaze now aimed towards the telly.

“Doesn’t give him the right to be a tosser.”

“I know.” She didn’t sound convinced, however. “I just… he was the first guy I went out with. After landing here. I may have gotten back into the game sooner than I should.”

_Back into the game?_

Pink lips parted but, before the baker could present a question, Lauren made one of her own. Harry knew that it was a means to steer his focus elsewhere. He’d allow it. 

“How did you get that scar?”

Rather than question which one, Harry simply glanced at his side. He had a terribly looking line across his ribs. It had been there since he was fifteen. Of all the ones he’d collected over the years, it was the most noticeable. His habit of wondering about shirtless made it easy for others to see.

“It’s not mine,” he told her simply, only to be met with a questioning glance. “Soulmate’s.”

Her mouth assumed the form of an O, eyes lowering, learning the scar. “Did it hurt?”

“Like a bitch,” he chuckled, more so when the girl beside him startled and then mirrored his laughter, settling down. “Caught me off guard more than anything, but yeah, it was quite deep. Had to get some stitches.”

“Did the doctor know what caused it?” 

“A blade.” Despite how simply he’d responded, he recognised the anger laced in his own voice. Lauren must have as well.

“Do you think something bad to them?”

“Because being cut by a knife isn’t bad?” Harry scoffed, but it was clear it wasn’t Lauren he was mocking. “I don’t think he died though. They say you feel it, even if it happens before you meet. The grief paralyses you, makes you hallow inside. Not to mention the excruciating pain you’re submitted to when it’s actually happening.”

Her body went rigid beside his own. Despite his expectations, she never did relax. Cautiously, the young man had brought his fingers to her tense shoulders, pressed and watched as she forced herself to resume the intakes and releases of air.

“Yeah,” she breathed, panted almost. “You’d know.”

And, somehow, he didn’t have to ask to know that Lauren had lost her soulmate in that truly agonising fashion. When he mumbled his apology, she’d shaken her head and pressed her cheek into his shoulder. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Whether it was him or herself she was attempting to convince, Harry didn’t contradict her. It sounded as though she’d spoken those words repeatedly over time, had them as a mantra. And she was right, she was fine. Or would be. He’d make sure of it.

* * *

 

Most of the twenty fifth had been a blur. The duo had been woken up late, by a seemingly tired Anne. They’d cooked lunch together while his mother napped, opting for a slow cook recipe to buy her some time.

Lauren had taken pictures of the Christmas carols that payed them a visit before lunch and they’d managed to sneak out for an hour to admire the Christmas lights.

Anne’s work kept her occupied, so they’d eaten and quickly opened their presents.

Harry and his mother had purchased two gifts each for the brunette. Between the two, she’d received a gift voucher, a snow globe that produced music and lit up, an extensive collection of makeup (Anne obviously had to be held responsible for that one) and several warm sweaters and coats.

“You always complain about the cold,” Harry had justified with a lame shrug, only to be startled with weak arms wrapped around him and cracked lips pressed to his cheek.

Anne received three gifts all together and Harry only opened the ones he’d received from the girls present. The others were still in the car.

“Are you driving up today?” Anne asked, folding the last of her clothes.

The young man hummed in turn. “Thought I’d take Lauren to see the Christmas lights in London before we go back.”

His mother seemed concerned for their safety, driving late at night but he did his best to put her worries to rest before joining Lauren in his car.

As anticipated, she’d been blown away by how heavily decorated everywhere was. Her favourite had to be Oxford street. If he were to guess. She’d gasped the minute they’d driven in, almost jumped out of the vehicle before Harry had even parked.

As a result, there were now ten new pictures on her instagram, a couple featuring Harry.

It came as no surprise, when later that night Harry found his phone to be flooded with incoming new messages. He’d decided to let his phone charge while making Lauren acquainted with his apartment.

“Louis won’t be back until the third, I think. Unless Liam comes back early,” he reasoned. “Don’t think he will though, so you’re welcome to stay here until then.”

He’d grown overprotective of the girl over time. Perhaps he’d always been, considering the night at the club. Regardless, leaving her alone at this time of year just seemed cruel.

Despite the protests he’d ignored, Lauren smiled. Only to then grow nervous at the prospect of sleeping in a stranger’s room.

Harry quickly came to terms with the fact that he needed a plan B or she’d be crashing on the sofa for the upcoming week.

“Take my room,” he’d volunteered instead. “Louis and I have no secrets. He won’t mind me sleeping in his. And my sheets are clean. Promise.”

Rather than share dinner, they’d settle for a late midnight snack (considering the late hours). After ensuring Lauren was comfortable, Harry collapsed into his best friend’s bed, finally paying attention to his phone for the first time in days.

 **From: Nailler  
25/12/2015, 16:42**  
Merry Christmas! Hope you had a good one, mate.

 **From: Nailler  
25/12/2015, 16:48**  
Also, who’s the pretty girl you’re spending the holiday season with?

 **From: Nailler  
25/12/2015, 22:36**  
… I feel like you’re being a twat on purpose.

 **From: Nailler  
25/12/2015, 22:40**  
HARRY, WHO’S THE GIRL

Before he could think to reply, his screen was engulfed by a group convo. And due to his slippery fingers, they now knew him to be online.

**CHRISTMAS GROUP CHAT  
Nialler, Tommo, Payno, Zayn**

**Nialler** : HE WON’T TELL ME WHO THE GIRL IS  
 **Payno:** Maybe he’s just been busy?  
 **Tommo:** You know he doesn’t swing that way, Niall. Why are you so worked up?  
 **Nialler:** BECAUSE SHE’S MY SOULMATE!!!  
 **Payno:** … I thought  
 **Tommo:** That’s just a cheesy line, Liam. Don’t mind him. His cock is just desperate for some attention.  
 **Nialler:** Is not!  
 **Nialler:** Maybe.  
 **Nialler:** I’m not kidding though. she’s so fuckin’ PERFECT, YEAH?

_Harry is now online_

**Tommo:** Thank fuck!  
 **Nailler:** HAZZA!  
 **Payno:** Hi, Harry!  
 **Harry:** Keep your sleazy hands away from Lauren, Niall.  
 **Harry:** Merry Christmas!  
 **Payno:** Having a good one?  
 **Payno:** How was London’s lights?  
 **Harry:** Pretty good, considering.   
**Harry:** Yeah, it was cool. Went more for Lauren’s sake. She’d never been.  
 **Tommo:** Not switching teams, darling, are you?  
 **Harry:** Still very much into dick, since I last checked.   
**Tommo:** You wouldn’t really know though, would you?

Harry frowned. Louis often made joked about his celibacy. For the most part, he didn’t mind. It was nice, having someone to laugh it off with, rather than be faced with judgement.

 **Nialler:** Hazza, you’re gonna introduce me to her when I get back, right?  
 **Harry:** Wrong.   
**Nialler:** WHYYYYY  
 **Harry:** She’s off limits, Niall. Lauren’s above being another name on your to do list.  
 **Nialler:** Hazza…  
 **Harry:** I mean it, Niall.  
 **Tommo:** You sure you haven’t been converted to the wonders of vagina?  
 **Payno:** Louis…  
 **Tommo:** What, women are aesthetically pleasing. It’s fact. It’s okay to explore one’s sexuality.  
 **Tommo:** Even when said one has a non existent sex life.  
 **Tommo:** Doesn’t your homeboy swing both ways?  
 **Tommo:** Maybe mine does too.   
**Zayn:** When did this become about _my_ sexual orientation?

His breath hitched. He had actually heard himself respond to Zayn’s abrupt participation in the conversation. And he could feel the sudden heat his cheeks harboured as a result.

Five people, one conversation, most of which revolved around his sexuality. Lovely.

 **Tommo:** Since you’d have the most insight about it, being the only bisexual of the group.  
 **Zayn:** We don’t detect other bisexuals within a fifty mile radius.  
 **Tommo:** So you don’t have the equivalent of a gay radar?  
 **Tommo:** Must suck to be you.  
 **Payno:** Are you saying you knew I was gay the moment you saw me?  
 **Tommo:** I’m saying even if you thought you weren’t, I wouldn’t have taken **no** for an answer.  
 **Tommo:** Thought I may have had to fight Zayn for you, though.  
 **Payno:** …  
 **Payno:** This isn’t medieval times, Louis.  
 **Niall:** Idk, fighting to the death seems pretty reasonable to me.  
 **Niall:** Do I have to fight you for Lauren, Haz?  
 **Tommo:** Like you didn’t think Harry was an impediment.  
 **Tommo:** … for fuck’s sake.  
 **Tommo:** Just give Nialler her number. We’ll never hear the end of this shit.   
**Harry:** He can ask her himself!  
 **Payno:** Can’t blame me. You two were breathing down each other’s neck.   
**Harry:** And then she can reject him herself.   
**Tommo:** And you and Zayn were cooked up in an isolated corner, which isn’t intimate at all.   
**Niall:** HAZZA!

His vision was beginning to blur. It was dark, his screen was too bright and there were several on going conversations occurring on at the same time.

 **Tommo:** Not to mention the sleepovers. Haz and I are roommates. At least we have an excuse.   
**Harry:** That reminds me, Lauren’s staying here until you get back.   
**Tommo:** Where is she crashing?  
 **Niall:** She can stay at my place. I'll catch an early flight ;)

Already, he was rolling his eyes at his blond friend. 

**Harry:** My room.  
 **Niall:** …  
 **Payno:** …  
 **Tommo:** Okay, serious time talk: are you turning straight? Or bi? Or pansexual?  
 **Harry:** I’m sleeping in yours.   
**Tommo:** OH, yeah okay.   
**Payno:** What?  
 **Harry:** Yeah, so if you guys have a box full of sex toys or kinky porn that I need to be aware of, now would be the time to say something.  
 **Harry:** Already changed the sheets. Just in case.  
 **Tommo:** You’re gonna make Payno blush, Harry.  
 **Tommo:** Don’t think there’s any of that in my room. I’ll definitely have to stop by yours sometime, though. You clearly must have some amazing collectables to have such entertaining thoughts.  
 **Harry:** Wouldn’t you like to know? ;)  
 **Nialler:** Knew I should have given you that bondage starter kit for Christmas.   
**Harry:** I would have loved it, Nialler.   
**Nialler:** Bet you would have ;)  
 **Tommo:** And what would he have done, used it on himself?  
 **Harry:** Sod off.  
 **Tommo:** Didn’t like my gift then, eh?  
 **Harry:** Haven’t opened it.  
 **Harry:** Don’t need to open it to know it’s a vibrator.   
**Harry:** Cheers.  
 **Payno:** What?  
 **Harry:** Yes, please sit your boyfriend down and explain to him how inappropriate that is.   
**Tommo** : I’m just looking out for you. You ain’t getting any. You should be in charge of your own needs then.  
 **Harry:** How considerate. I’m truly moved.  
 **Nialler:** Such friendship goals, you two are.  
 **Payno:** siiighs  
 **Tommo:** You’re just jelly because you and Zayn could never compete with us.   
**Nialler:** Hey! What about me?  
 **Tommo:** You’re our lovechild. You know this, Nialler.  
 **Zayn:** Did you open my gift then?

Shit.

 **Harry:** Not yet, no.

Several heartbeats passed. If they’d been together, in a room, Harry imagined this to be the equivalent of an awkward silence. Thankfully, as usual, Niall broke the ice.

 **Nialler:** So, Hazza, can my Christmas gift be Lauren’s number?  
 **Nialler:** Or at least a proper introduction.

Conversation became easy from then on out, Liam and Louis bickering, Niall still trying to include Lauren as a topic any and every chance he got. It was easy for Harry to forget the one glitch of a moment. Until he received two incoming texts.

 **From: Louis  
26/12/2015, 01:14**  
Zayn gave you a Christmas gift?

 **From: Louis  
26/12/2015, 01:14**  
He didn’t get me one! And I’m  sleeping with his mate.

 **To: Louis  
26/12/2015, 01:15**  
Maybe that’s the reason /why/ he didn’t give you anything. Scarred him for life with the sounds you make.

 **From: Louis  
26/12/2015, 01:17**  
Can’t help that I’m so passionate.  
What did he give you, then?

 **To: Louis  
26/12/2015, 01:19**  
Haven’t opened it yet.

It was a relief, that his friend didn’t press for more information. Or finally address the matter Harry had been avoiding. They had fallen back into their old ways, despite the tension that stained the days leading to their separation. Harry was, honestly, relieved.

That sensation was short lived, his phone lighting up and demanding his attention soon after.

 **From: Unknown number  
26/12/2015, 01:24**  
When are you going to open my present?

 **To: Unknown number  
26/12/2015, 01:26**  
Zayn?  
How’d you get my number?  
Soon?

 **From: Zayn  
26/12/2015, 01:31**  
Louis.   
That was an unnecessary amount of question marks.

 **To: Zayn  
26/12/2015, 01:32**  
I’ll open it tomorrow.

 **From: Zayn  
26/12/2015, 01:35**  
Open it now.

 **To: Zayn  
26/12/2015, 01:35**  
I’m in bed.

 **From: Zayn  
26/12/2015, 01:36**  
Harry.

Jesus fucking Christ. He rubbed his eyes, sighing for a long moment. He cursed Zayn Malik a thousand times before dragging himself out of bed.

 **To: Zayn  
26/12/2015, 01:37**  
Fine.

His naked body mourned the loss of heat as he crunched over his bag. It didn’t take much to find the package Zayn had gifted him with. And it didn’t take much effort to unravel it, only to find that it was a folder.

 **From: Zayn  
26/12/2015, 01:37**  
Good boy. 

Harry cursed the other young man further because now, not only did he have a semi in his boxers, but he’d have to turn on the lights if he wanted to read its contents. He focused on the latter, of course.

Much to his surprise, the gift was a handful of classes. Arabic - Level One, English Literature and Art History. He’d have them all in the upcoming semester. What he chose to do with them after, was entirely up to him.

It would have been easier, to message Zayn a quick thanks, leave it at that. But the longer he sat in that bed, with papers spread over his lap, the more sense it made to call Zayn instead.

Two rings later and Zayn’s rough voice greeted him from the other end of the line. He'd probably been smoking. “Harry.”

There it was again, the goosebumps he wished wouldn’t stain the back of his neck. “Yeah.” Why did he sound breathless? He cleared his throat. “I opened it.”

A heartbeat passed. Then another. “Did you like it?”

His eyes oversaw the sight of the paper sheets, the information they contained. He hadn’t decided until that very moment that yes, he did very much like his present. He’d just been overwhelmed really, had to figure out why Zayn had given _this_ to him. But he felt… good. That someone cared, that they’d seen him and realised he needed that push.

For a moment he wondered if he shouldn’t be angry, but he was struck again by that sudden need to cling to Zayn and whisper ‘thank you’ over and over again into his skin. The phone call would have to do, though.

“Yeah.”

A chuckle resonated in his ear, making him tremble slightly. “You don’t sound very convincing, Harry.”

“No, I am. It’s just… not what I expected.” His fingers touched the three classes, in bold. “How did you know which classes to pick?”

“Fairly obvious choices, I think.”

“I could be a math prodigy.”

He waited for the loud eye roll, the joke at his expense. It never came. Instead there was a prolonged pause. “Are you?” Didn’t sound like mockery, just genuinely curious as though it were even a possibility. Harry was overwhelmed once more.

“No,” he replied slowly. “Just… yeah, these sound like classes I’d enjoy.”

“So you like it?” he asked, and not for the first time that evening. 

Harry found himself nodding, despite the knowledge that he couldn’t be seen by the other individual participating in the conversation. “You shouldn’t have gone through the trouble. Don’t even understand how you got them to take me.”

“I volunteered at administration a couple of years ago. Once you know the drill, it’s easy to make it happen.”

He nodded his understanding once more, unaware of what he might say when all he could do was stare at the papers on Louis’ bed. “I really have to give you something now. Even if you’re Muslim and don’t celebrate Christmas.”

Having anticipated a polite refusal, protests even, Harry was somewhat taken aback by the silence that followed.

When Zayn finally did reply, he swore he could hear the smirk in his voice. “My birthday’s on the twelfth. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

That sounded far more suggestive than it should have.

It was then, just shy of two am, that Harry came to the conclusion that he was fucked. And not in the best sense of the word. ~~Not that he would know.~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally did a longer chapter. I was also relieved to finally get around to writing more Harry with his friends.   
> I apologise for the delay but there were five consecutive days where I couldn't bring myself to write a single sentence. Hopefully that block is over and done with.   
> While there's no further chapters written just yet, I anticipate the story to be wrapped up within the next two? Knowing me, I might do more, but that's the overall plan.
> 
> Let me know if there's something you'd like to see in the stories. Or if you have any questions.   
> If you need me, you can find me [HERE](http://adriannaspromo.tumblr.com/ask).  
> 


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